Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos
by ACI100
Summary: AU: When Voldemort attacked the Potters on Halloween night, she not only created a living legend in Charlus Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, but she touched the life of another just as deeply. What will happen when a more jaded, more focused, and more gifted Harry Potter shows up at Hogwarts in 1991 after being abandoned and forgotten? Fem!Voldemort, WBWL
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

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_"You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…"_

_(J.K Rowling, Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone, 1997)_

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**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Prologue: The Kiss of Destiny**

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_**October 31, 1981**_

_**Godric's Hollow**_

_**10:46 PM**_

"Lily, it's her, run! Take the twins and go! I'll hold her off!"

Lily wanted to protest, but she knew it was the only hope for her two sons, the two things she loved more than life itself. Quickly, she scooped up the both of them and rushed up the stairs, barricading herself in the room above as she cast every locking and protective ward she knew upon the already barricaded door.

Meanwhile, downstairs, James felt the wards crumble as the front door swung leisurely open, admitting Lady Voldemort herself. She was unnaturally tall, standing several inches taller than James, who was almost six feet tall himself. She was slim, with an angelic face and long dark hair that fell down her back. Her blue eyes shone in the light as she stepped inside, looking as if she were doing nothing more strenuous than walking the dog on a Saturday morning.

"Good evening, Lord Potter," she greeted, even going as far as to politely shut the door behind her.

James snarled and slashed his wand. A stunner exploded from the end of the implement, crackling across the room like a bolt of lightning. The magic in the air was palpable and for a moment, James thought for sure that Voldemort would fall. Instead, she merely waved her hand dismissively in the air, causing the spell to fly off course and smash into the far wall. James made to chain several more spells together, but he wasn't fast enough. With a hand gesture that looked much like the swatting of a fly, James flew backwards, smashing hard into the wall and slumping to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Back upstairs, Lily heard a loud crash and could only hope for the best. Moments later, she heard slow, leisurely footsteps as she felt something immensely powerful slam against her wards. She cried out, doing everything in her power to hold them together, but it was not enough.

The explosion of magic caused by the collapse of her wards blew apart the physical barrier, sending Lily's wand flying, and in stepped the Dark Lady herself. What horrified Lily perhaps above all else was the fact that Voldemort didn't even appear to be carrying a wand. She had bested James wandlessly!

"Good evening, Lady Potter." Voldemort's greeting practically mirrored the one she had given James, but of course, Lily was unaware of this.

"Please, not my children! Take me, kill me instead, but spare them!"

Voldemort simply shook her head. "You and I are both well aware that is not an option. I give you two choices, for you have no wand and no way of even attempting to defend yourself or your twins. You can step aside and allow me to strike down your children, in which case I shall allow both you and your husband to walk away unharmed. Tell Dumbledore, tell the Ministry. Do whatever you like; the rest of your life is yours to do with as you please.

"Or, continue to oppose me now, knowing that your opposition will do nothing for your children, who would die in spite of your sacrifice."

"Go to hell!" Lily snarled, getting to her feet once more after being thrown to the floor due to the magical backlash of her wards being shattered.

"Lady Potter, this is your final warning."

"I will never let you hurt my children!"

Lily thrust her hand forward, sending a wall of flames rocketing towards the very taken aback looking visage of Voldemort. They engulfed her and Lily almost cried out in joy. That was before they were snuffed out as suddenly as they had appeared and before Lily could do so much as look surprised, Voldemort's wand was aimed for the first time.

"Avada Kedavra."

Lily made to dodge, but her eyes widened in shock. Her only thought before her body became enshrouded in green light was that she had never seen a spell move so fast.

As her body hit the floor, the two boys in the crib behind her reacted for the first time. One of them began to cry, clearly uncertain as to the origin of the bright light, and doubtlessly wondering why his mother had fallen. This boy would grow up to be the spitting image of his father, with dark messy hair and warm hazel eyes.

The other boy also reacted, though he did so in a very different way. He put his small hands on the top of the crib and pulled himself to his feet, wobbling a bit as he did so. Instead of crying, he simply looked curiously up at Voldemort. His green eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness, and Emily Riddle was reminded all too well of the curse that had just left her wand. She could sense an odd aura emanating from the green-eyed boy in particular, though the other child clearly possessed it as well. There was something different about him though, something that she could not quantify through words or thoughts.

Carefully, Voldemort stepped forward, scooping the green-eyed child up into her arms and inspecting him with genuine curiosity, trying to feel the magic around him as best she could. It was lively, even at his age. It seemed to cling to him as if it were a group of moths being drawn to an open flame.

"Shhh," she whispered, softly stroking his raven hair in an effort to calm him. "It will be quick, I promise. Such a waste, you could have been such an ally, or perhaps even a worthy challenger. But no, the prophecy had different ideas for you, didn't it?" Gently, Voldemort placed a kiss on the head of the boy before lowering him back into the crib, straightening up with genuine regret.

She raised her wand again, taking aim at the green-eyed child. Just as she did so, the other boy sprang up next to his twin, trying to shove him out of the way as he too looked at her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The jet of green light left her wand and Voldemort would never know which of the boys it struck, for a second later, she felt pain like she had never imagined, pain beyond belief as she knew, somehow, that the curse had failed. She felt as if she were literally being ripped from her body, and only a moment later did she realize that was exactly what had happened. Her only cognitive thought through the haze of fury and agony was to escape this place. To run far, far away from the Aurors, from James Potter and most of all, from Dumbledore as she awaited one of her loyal followers to find her.

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_**Later that night...**_

With a crack like a gunshot in the night, Peter Pettigrew appeared in front of the cottage in which his best friends lived. He saw that the cottage was in ruins, and if truth was to be told, he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. It looked as if it had been burning but had been recently extinguished. He had come at once, come as soon as his other work had allowed. As soon as his old friend, Evan Rosier, had contacted Peter, speaking of how his mark had burned more painfully than ever before.

That wasn't the part that concerned Peter.

The part that concerned Peter was the mark itself. Rosier had stuck his arm in the Floo for Peter to get a good glance, and it appeared as if the mark itself had faded from a vivid black to a dull grey on his arm, now resembling a muggle tattoo that had been exposed to the sun for years on end.

Peter was no fool. He was no Merlin with a wand, but he had always understood magic. He thought he knew what he would find at Godric's Hollow, but he had to be certain. He had to know what to do in order to proceed.

Peter quickly rushed into the home, keeping one hand on his wand. When he entered the room, even he was surprised at what he saw.

James was standing in the middle of it, looking for all the world like he was completely and utterly lost. When the door opened, James whirled around, his wand snapping up for a second before he saw Peter, and the man watched the fight literally seep out of his best friend as he seemed to physically deflate. "Oh, Wormy, it's you."

"J-James?" Peter asked, letting his surprise flow easily through his voice. "James, what happened?"

"Voldemort! She-she came." He then looked at him for the first time, and Peter could now see how bloodshot the man's eyes were. He had only seen James cry once, and that had been the night when his mother and father had met their own ends at the hand of the Dark Lady. "L-L-Lily, she's d-d-d-dead."

Peter blinked several times, staggering backwards as best he could manage and slumping against the wall, letting his very real exhaustion at other events that night seep through him. "No," he moaned quietly, looking at James with wide watery eyes, seeming to the other man as if he were imploring him to pull the plug on whatever horrible excuse for a joke he was playing.

James only nodded solemnly. "The h-h-healers are looking at them."

"Looking at whom?"

"The twins," said James, prompting Peter to become legitimately surprised for the first time.

"They-they're alive? Both of them?"

James nodded. "I'm waiting for the call to be briefed on what they think happened. I-I was waiting here for Dumbledore and I couldn't just l-leave-" his voice trailed off, but Peter didn't need him to finish. A split second later, an owl flew through the open front door, depositing a letter in James's hands. He took a deep breath and opened it, peering at it intently as his eyes went wide.

"What is it?" Peter asked, doing his utmost best to sound comforting and concerned.

"That's impossible," breathed James, his voice completely flat.

"James."

"Charlus, he-he survived the killing curse."

This time, Peter's mouth really did fall open, his mind going completely blank with shock. "W-what?"

"He survived the killing curse. They think that's what destroyed her."

Peter couldn't believe it. He was not willing to allow himself to be certain of the Dark Lady's defeat. Peter always had to plan for every outcome, especially in drastic situations. If he planned for a world where the Dark Lady was no more and she returned… well, that would be a rather dangerous world for Peter to live in. At the very least, it appeared, for now, that she had been vanquished. Vanquished nonetheless, by the very curse that had been supposed to bring her the ultimate victory she had desired for so long.

"He'll be a hero," Peter whispered, the gears turning inside of his brain. "He'll be famous, James. Every child in our world will know his name. They'll write books about him, they'll fawn over him, they'll bow to him."

"I don't know if I can do it, Wormy. I don't know if I can raise both of them without her. Especially not now with Charlus being-being-" his voice died again, and Peter placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Of course you can, Prongs," Peter assured him. "The Dark Lady is gone, there's no pressure."

"On that, I am afraid we must agree to disagree," said a familiar voice from the entrance, though it was graver than Peter had ever heard it before.

"Albus?"

"James," Dumbledore said heavily, "I am so, so sorry for your loss tonight. Only a small amount of people in our world can imagine the pain of loss. Alas, an even smaller number can truly appreciate the agony of losing someone whom you truly loved."

"Albus," Peter said carefully, trying his best to hide how interested he truly was, making sure that his Occlumency measures were firmly in place. "You said you disagree. With what exactly?"

Dumbledore sighed, looking pityingly at James before he spoke. "Lady Voldemort is, I am afraid, very far from finished once and for all."

James's head snapped up and he looked as if he had just been slapped. "But her body, it's upstairs-"

"Oh, I do not believe she poses any threat at this time, but I do not believe she is gone for good. She is, in what sense or form I admittedly do not know, very much alive. Likely very weak, likely without any essence of her powers, at least for now, but I am almost certain that she is alive."

"How?" asked James, his voice now carrying none of his earlier sorrow.

"Severus. His mark has faded, though it is still very much present. If Lady Voldemort had perished for good, such a mark tied so closely to her would no longer exist at all. Of that at least, I am certain."

"Lily died for nothing." When James bit out these words, his voice suddenly carrying an odd note of danger.

"For goodness sakes, no!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his own eyes welling slightly as he stepped towards James, placing a firm, comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "Lily died in the only way a mother ever wishes to die — protecting her children, ensuring that their lives would not end so soon after that of her own."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Sacrificial magic is one of the most powerful branches of the thing itself, rivalled only perhaps, by intent and love. Lily had all three of these things tonight, and in combination, I believe that they served as the catalyst for your sons' survival. I also believe they will provide the child of prophecy with the weapons needed to finish Lady Voldemort once and for all."

'Prophecy?' Peter mused, internally.

"It's Charlus," James said flatly. "The Healers think he survived the killing curse." James looked to Dumbledore. "What do we do? Should we train him? Prepare him for when she does come back?"

"Perhaps. For now, all you can do is assure both him and his brother Harry that their mother's sacrifice was not made in vain. They should know what happened to their mother, and they should know what she would want. A world free of prejudice and revolutions. A world in which her sons could grow up safe and sound. A world where Lady Voldemort poses no threat at all."

"I don't think I can do it," James admitted, echoing his earlier sentiment. "Albus, I don't think I can train Charlus, keep him a decent human being with all the attention and bullshit he's going to have to deal with and still raise Harry decently." He shook his head. "At best he'll hate his brother for all the attention he gets, and that'll be before I have to start preparing Charlus. At worst, he'll be neglected, not on purpose, but I don't want to chance it. I'll have to spend too much time with Charlus."

"James," Dumbledore said softly, "never underestimate the power of love. Those driven by it can do incredible things, things they would have never thought possible."

If James was more perceptive, perhaps he would have noticed the same thing that Peter did, a rather odd, rather brief flash of… something in the old wizard's eyes.

"I-I don't know Albus," moaned James. "I-I really don't think I can."

Dumbledore sighed in what appeared to be sadness; he knew that James's mind was already set. When he next spoke, his voice was heavier than ever. "I cannot force you to raise your son, James. I can advise you to do it, but I cannot force you. There are, of course, others who would gladly take him as their own, but what of his heirship? What would you do about such a dilemma?"

"I would welcome him back into the family when he's older," James said without hesitation. "When she's gone for good, maybe even earlier. Maybe when they're Hogwarts age; — I don't know, but I don't think I can give him the life he deserves, Albus, but I don't want him to hate me."

That was when the gears clicked in Peter's mind, a plan coming into form that the Dark Lady herself would have been proud of. "Well, I think the solution's obvious," said Peter, sounding every bit as grave as Dumbledore. When he received nothing but puzzled looks, he continued. "If he's raised in the magical world it will cause problems, so why not have him raised in the muggle world? Sure, he might still resent you when he finds out the truth, but at least he would be at an age where he could see reason." He paused as if to think. "Does Lily not have a sister? Could you not leave Harry with her? I'm sure she'd take good care of him. He is family, after all."

James shook his head. "I'm not sure, Wormy. Lily's sister was always jealous, even spiteful of her magic."

"I imagine a combination of time and the shock of losing her sister will be a strong motivator for Petunia to turn over a new leaf," Dumbledore theorized. "Peter's plan is viable. He could be protected there, protected by wards forged directly from the intent of his mother's sacrifice. Wards that I doubt even Lady Voldemort herself could penetrate." Dumbledore scratched his beard. "He would be raised by family, something that would only play into the magic protecting him."

James sighed. "I s-suppose it's settled then?" Both of the other two men nodded, both smiling internally for very opposite reasons, though neither showed the expression openly on their faces.

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_**November 3, 1981**_

_**The Ministry of Magic**_

_**Courtroom 10**_

_**9:00 AM**_

The members of the Wizengamot were buzzing like feral bees as they awaited the beginning of the most ground-breaking trial that any of them had ever sat in on. From his spot at the podium, Albus Dumbledore wondered very much if he was going to have to stop any of them from cursing those on trial.

The Minister, Millicent Bagnold, cleared her throat, snapping Dumbledore out of his stupor and causing him to bang his gavel hard on the podium to call for order.

"We must pass the motion to commence this most urgent meeting," he said. The usually present twinkle in his eyes was absent, and his voice was softer and less jovial than any in the courtroom had heard it before. "All in favour?" Every wand in the room rose into the air and lit up as one. "Very well, let the emergency Wizengamot meeting of November the third, nineteen-eighty-one commence." He turned to his left, peering at a rather livid looking Barty Crouch. "As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I believe it is you who shall take over from here. To you, Bartemius Crouch, I concede the chair."

Crouch nodded stiffly and stood, his jaw clenched tightly as he barked, "Bring them in!" to the two Junior Aurors guarding the doors. One of them disappeared for a moment, and when he re-entered the room, he did so leading a procession of beings.

Three wizards were led into the room, each having one of their arms clasped tightly by a tall, hooded figure that emanated an ethereal chill and a sense of dread that could not be ignored. Aurors in the plural flanked the procession, leading them into the circle.

Two of the wizards being led in by the dementors looked rather similar to one another. They were both tall and lean, well-muscled, but in the way a long-distance runner might be. Their hair was short and dark brown, and their dark, almost black eyes roamed casually over the audience, completely unphased by the waves of hatred that were being directed their way.

In the middle was another man. He too was tall and built in much the same way as the others, though he was more well-muscled than the other two and not quite as lean. He had rugged, aristocratic features with high cheekbones, pale grey eyes and long, black hair that flowed casually down his shoulders. He, like the others, seemed unphased, even going as far as to smile lazily up at those in the stands.

The three of them were led forward and forced to sit in chairs that quickly bound their wrists.

"May we begin?" Crouch asked, his eyes narrowing upon the three as he glanced towards Dumbledore, who nodded.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange!" he thundered. "You are being charged with affiliations to the Dark Lady who went by the alias of Lady Voldemort." Most in the courtroom flinched. Crouch, on the other hand, did not so much as pause. "On top of this heinous crime, you both are accused of the torture of Franklin and Alice Longbottom; an act that sent them to the long term care wing of St. Mungo's, where they are unlikely to ever return from." His voice dripped with venom that he made no attempt to withstrain, and many in the audience jeered at the three prisoners. "How do you plead?"

"Guilty," both men answered, not seeming to be overly bothered by the fact.

"Very well," Crouch declared with a predatorily, "all in favour of life sentences in Azkaban?" Every last wand in the crowd lit up, and Crouch glared down at them as Dumbledore banged his gavel, making the motion official. He shot a look towards the Aurors. "Make sure that they are taken to the high-security wing of Azkaban." The Aurors nodded, and with the help of several dementors, the two were led off, ignoring the jeers of the crowd as they left. Both of them were glaring up at Crouch with a look that seemed to promise retribution.

"Sirius Orion Black!" Crouch bellowed once the crowd had died down, causing them to rise to new levels of anger. "You are being charged with the same crimes as the Lestrange brothers, with the exception of the Longbottoms' torture. You are also being charged for the murder of Marline Mackinnon and thirteen muggles in the streets of London on November the first, a crime that also violates the International Statute of Secrecy. In addition, it is believed that you are responsible for betraying the location of Lord James Charlus Potter and his wife and children to the Dark Lady, how do you plead?"

Sirius Black just sat in the chair and did the last thing that any in the large chamber expected him to do. He threw back his head and let out an echoing, bark-like laugh that took the entire courtroom by surprise.

"Is that all, Crouch?" he asked arrogantly, shaking his head with what seemed to be exasperation. "If I'm going to Azkaban, at least give me full credit for the work I've done to get there!"

The crowd began to stand, furious at the pride that seemed to accompany his insinuations but Dumbledore raised his wand, conjuring a silver dome of energy around Black to protect him. He also shot off several fireworks into the air, forcing the crowd to reluctantly fall silent.

"And," asked Crouch, seeming to spit every word at Black with murderous intentions, "what else is it that you have done, Black?!"

"I was no mere servant of the Dark Lady. I was her honoured lieutenant, the one and only person who she trusted wholeheartedly." The crowd was screaming obscenities at him now, but Black merely laughed again. "Oh, and you think Malfoy and his lackeys were her valued followers? Valued above me?" He laughed once more. "Malfoy and his puppets served the Dark Lady because of me." He smiled that same, arrogant smile. "No amount of money can protect you from the Imperius Curse."

"Are you claiming to have placed Lucius Malfoy under the Imperius Curse to serve the Dark Lady?"

"You sell me short again, Crouch," laughed Black, looking positively gleeful now. "Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Macnair and," he smiled predatorily up at Crouch, much the way the man had done to his companions, "Barty Crouch… Junior."

The courtroom broke into mayhem as several curses did fly towards Black, though they all sparked harmlessly off Dumbledore's shield. It took far more fireworks this time to have the court under control and Crouch was almost past coherence now, so Dumbledore himself spoke, his voice shaking with rage in a way that nobody had ever heard it do before.

"Those in favour of sentencing the accused to life in Azkaban?" Again, every wand rose into the sky. "Motion passed!" He glared in a most uncharacteristic way down at Black, hardly daring to believe the man he had trusted and allowed into his order would commit such despicable crimes. "Take him away!"

"You think this is over, old man?" cackled Black as he was dragged to his feet, hardly caring that the dementors were gliding towards him. "This is far from over. The Dark Lady shall return and your pathetic reign over Britain will be over. You'll be her first victim." He sneered. "First after the Potter brat, of course."

He said no more, choosing instead to laugh openly as he was led from the court by the Aurors and guards of Azkaban, leaving a near-riot in the courtroom behind him.

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**Chapter References:**

**Chapter 1: Prologue.**

**Chapters 2-18: Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.**

**Chapters 19-? Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

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**For future reference, speech will be denoted by double quotations, internal dialogue by single quotations, parseltongue via bold lettering and in-story text, alternate languages or words I would like to emphasize with italics.**

**I'm sure all of you are smart enough to figure that out, but I thought I would lay it out right here.**

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**Author's Endnote:**

**This AN is ridiculously long, but future AN's will not be. Most at the end of a chapter will just feature a short comment or two and the release date for the next chapter.**

**You will have to deal with Harry and the others being very advanced for their age, both in terms of dialogue and maturity as well. There is no way I can write a 100% accurate depiction of an eleven-year-old, as I literally spend none of my day to day life with anybody within even a few years of that age. And quite frankly, trying to portray that in a perfectly realistic manner would greatly limit my options. I figured the best policy would be me being upfront and honest about that.**

**I want to get one other thing out of the way right now.**

**Just because I have labelled this as a "WBWL Story" does not mean that Harry is the BWL. It doesn't mean that he's not either, but the whole BWL matter is actually rather ambiguous in this story and will not be revealed until MUCH LATER, though I will of course be foreshadowing along the way. I simply chose to label the story as I did because it does follow many of the tropes commonly associated with WBWL stories, even if I will have a rather different spin on them in time. This story will certainly total at well over a million words when all is said and done, so needless to say I have a lot planned.**

**Building on that, Charlus will not be an incompetent, hyperbolized personification of all that fanon has labelled as the worst of Gryffindor house. He will have a rough introduction, but I am planning for a lot of character development where he is concerned, and his arc will be a rather wild ride to the finish.**

**Thirdly, I will be trying to write most characters fairly in character, at least when viewing their mannerisms. Their intentions may be different, as there is a lot more in play here than in the books, but my goal is to have Dumbledore read like Dumbledore, Snape read like Snape (sort of) and so on, so forth.**

**This story will be paced very slowly. If you do not like that, fair enough. But please do not complain about it in the reviews just because you don't like it. If you think a scene I wrote off put the flow, or anything of a similar manner, of course bring it up. The first five or so chapters of this are inevitably a bit cliche. I do intend to subvert a lot of tropes, but to do so, I need to establish them first. I promise it does pick up after that though. If you don't like this fic by the end of year 1, that is probably a good place to give it up.**

**As for updates, this story is currently updated every Saturday at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Before I sign off, I wanted to shoutout the fics that have had the most influence on this one, so here we go:**

**Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man**

**Limpieza de Sangre by TheEndless7**

**Harry Potter and the International Triwizard Tournament by SalientCasualty**

**Harry Potter and the Boy Who Lived by The Santi**

**A Cadmean Victory by DarknessEnthroned**

**The Mind Arts by Wu Gang**

**Sarcasm & Slytherin by sunmoonandstars**

**Departure From the Diary by TendraelUmbra**

**Please read and review.**

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**Additional Author's Note:**

**I am going through the early chapters of this fic and doing some much-needed revision with the help of some lovely people from my Discord server as well as my beta Fezzik. **

**This chapter was revised with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	2. TFA Ch 1: Beginnings & Truths

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

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**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100 **

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 1: Beginnings & Truths**

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_**July 1, 1982**_

_**The Wizengamot Chambers**_

_**5:47 PM**_

After what had been a very long day of promises, debates and political manoeuvring, the speeches, questions and answers had finally been given and Albus Dumbledore could do nothing but sit back with resignation as he watched the display in front of him unfold.

He'd been rather disappointed when Millicent Bagnold, the Minister for Magic, had announced that she wouldn't run for office for a third time. Dumbledore could hardly blame her. She had been the Minister for perhaps the ten most trying years the country had experienced in centuries. Despite that, Dumbledore really did wish she would have run again. She hadn't been blessed with a sparkling reputation as a result of the war, but in actuality, there had been nothing she could have done once everything had kicked off. It was true that Albus resented her initial reluctance in acknowledging Voldemort as a true threat. But to the woman's credit, once she acted, she had done as well as anyone could have hoped for.

Now, Wizarding Britain stood at a crossroads, as the battle for Minister had been whittled down to two candidates.

One was a fairly young man by the name of Daniel Shafiq. He was a consummate politician; very passionate, very well-spoken, and very opinionated. On the surface, Shafiq appeared as if he would be the perfect man for the job. Dumbledore knew better, as did most people in the room. Shafiq had been a member of the Conservative faction ever since he had joined the Wizengamot and though nobody said it, Albus and most others present were well aware of the fact that he was firmly under the thumb of those in his faction who outranked him. People like Lucius Malfoy and Tiberius Nott, for instance.

On the opposite side stood an older man who had been changed by the war. Barty Crouch Sr. was in many ways the opposite of his counterpart. He didn't fit the typical mould of a politician, yet in the eye of the public, Crouch seemed to be the perfect candidate.

He had been Head of the DMLE for the near entirety of the war and in juxtaposition to Bagnold, he had been a firm believer in taking action against both Voldemort and her followers, something that made him a hero to much of Magical Britain. The problem, at least in Albus's mind, was the actions themselves. Crouch was ruthless and stubborn and, in Dumbledore's opinion, a bit too much of each. Once the man gained power, it would be difficult, if not impossible to convince him to support any path that he had laid out.

Usually the Liberals, the Conservatives, and the Neutrals would each put forth a Ministerial candidate. The tension between the Liberals and Conservatives, who were less formally referred to as the Light and the Dark, was so high that the Neutrals abstained from selecting a candidate as they wanted nothing to do with the current political landscape. Thus, for the first time in over a century there were only two candidates put forth by the Wizengamot for the votes of the general public. This meant that for Albus Dumbledore, far from the first time in that century, he felt that he was again in a lose-lose situation.

* * *

_**June 30, 1991**_

_**No. 4 Privet Drive**_

_**7:23 AM**_

It was with a great deal of stiffness that Harry exited his cupboard, trying not to make a face as he stepped into the light for the first time in… he wasn't even sure how long. Of all the miraculous things that had ever happened around him, from the colouration of his teacher's hair three years ago, to the way his own hair had grown overnight years before that, to even his inexplicable appearance on a school roof, Harry thought the incident at the zoo might have been the most mind-boggling one yet.

He'd known he was different for some time, known that his emotions, and later even his intent could cause miraculous things to happen around him, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he could do something so outlandish as speaking to animals.

Yes, Harry Potter was well aware that he was different. He was a very well-read child. What else was one meant to do when their alternative source of entertainment was to stare blankly up at the dark underside of the stairs? He had always been curious, and in large part, his reading had helped to sate much of that curiosity. So naturally when odd, seemingly impossible things began to happen around him, Harry's first reaction had been to try and find what these things meant and more importantly, the thing that allowed them to be possible at all.

Try as he might, Harry had found nothing of the sort. The closest thing his young eyes had glimpsed were references to similar such things happening in children's tales; tales he had known to have been fiction from a very young age. So, Harry had turned to the next best thing, a term he had read, and later furthered his understanding on through reading an upper-year science textbook at school one lunch break while hiding from Dudley's gang in the library.

Experimenting.

He had indeed experimented, starting with his hair, since he knew it was something that he could control from experience. When he had utterly failed at any attempt at growing it out, he'd focused on smaller, more subtle changes. After a while, he had finally managed the change he sought out, that being to force his hair to lay flat; something he much preferred to its wild, more natural state. Upon later reflection, it was perhaps the only thing that he and his relatives agreed on. At first it had been temporary, but the more he did it the longer it lasted until, one day, he hadn't needed to force his hair to change at all.

This had spurred him on further, as he now wondered to what extent his new gift stretched. He had managed to turn on and off the small light in his cupboard simply by wanting it to, though that trick had taken him several months of practice before he could call upon it at will. Once, he had even managed to repair an old teapot of Aunt Petunia's he had knocked over while running from Dudley's gang while she and Uncle Vernon were out in the garden. He'd never managed to repeat that particular feat again, though in fairness, he hadn't spent a whole lot of time trying.

Perhaps Harry's favourite trick was to make objects come to him of their own accord. This was difficult in the sense that he had to focus quite a bit for it to happen, but it was something that Harry found unbelievably convenient. The object had to be directly in his line of sight, something that unfortunately prevented him from bringing his glasses to himself on command in the mornings. Nevertheless, he thought it was an impressive talent.

In terms of utility, the only ability that he thought greater than summoning objects to him at will was the ability to know what those around him were thinking from a simple glance. Without much effort at all, Harry just knew. He could sense their emotions and general thought processes on most occasions. If he really wanted to know on a more intimate level, he could always look them in the eyes and will their thoughts to present themselves to him. It wasn't mind reading — not really, as he had deduced long ago that it only truly worked with surface thoughts and images. Harry always got quite the rush from seeing these flashes just by looking someone in the eye.

Compared to those incredible things, Harry thought speaking with animals was his most impressive feat. That was even if, like many of the things he had previously achieved, he had not fully realized what he was doing. As he walked towards the kitchen, his self-pride was stabbed away by the pain that ran down his neck, causing him to wince slightly. He may have been small for his age, but that didn't make it any more pleasant to be curled awkwardly in a cupboard for God only knows how long.

He entered the kitchen and quickly made his way to the stove, not needing further instruction. He had learned a long time ago that the fastest and easiest way to appease his relatives was to act without being asked. Petunia had woken him for the first time in what felt like ages, so logically, Harry thought it was safe to presume that she wanted something. She, nor any of them, ever did him any favours unless they wanted something in return.

That thought may have made any other ten, almost eleven-year-old child frown, sigh, or even scowl, but not Harry. He had accepted the fact many years ago, and had resigned himself to the reality. No matter what he did, his treatment at the Dursleys would only improve so much.

This had been proven rather early on when he was punished for getting better marks than Dudley. In an effort to avoid further repercussions, Harry had completely bombed his next examination in order to finish below his cousin. Unfortunately, this only prompted the Dursleys to punish him even more harshly; this time prompting Vernon to put hands on him in retaliation for what he perceived was Harry's way of making him look like a careless guardian.

_"I won't have any of them believing that we have raised incompetent children!"_ Vernon had complained. Harry, even then, had been rather tempted to ask him why, if he was so worried about the impression that was being put out about them, he had yet to punish Dudley. Even at such a young age, he'd realized that would have been akin to suicide.

Harry had given up on getting low marks there and then, choosing instead to do the best he could, putting his near eidetic memory to the test. It was, in many ways, the one way he had truly been able to defy the Dursleys. After a while they had stopped punishing him for scoring higher than Dudley, seeming to accept the fact that Harry was an arrogant child who wanted only to flaunt any shred of competence he may possess. It turned out that Harry had a rather large amount of competence if his marks said anything on the matter. Vernon and Petunia had been offered the choice to put Harry into the year above several times, however, they had always resolutely refused.

He knew he was competent. He knew that he was far more competent than most, if not any child his age he had ever met. He didn't think he was overly arrogant though. He certainly believed himself more than capable, better than most intellectually. He certainly knew he had his other strengths, such as his knack for charming his teachers into not writing home about his mysterious exploits. He'd always been good at that, though unfortunately, the ability had never extended onto his own relatives.

Despite that, Harry knew his limitations and had no delusions about them.

Another field he was certainly competent in was that of cooking, something his relatives had ensured at an early age. At first, he had been gripped by the injustice of such a thing. Why should a seven-year-old boy have to cook for his adult guardians? Now, he didn't really mind. The time he spent cooking allowed him to be alone with his thoughts somewhere other than his cupboard, something that was a rarity which he cherished more than he would ever admit.

Today was no different. The time he had spent cooking up a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast felt like no time at all. He served the Dursleys their plates and sat himself down with the measly piece of toast that remained after Dudley had insisted on seconds and Harry had provided, his customary, artificial smile sliding easily into place.

Harry had not sat down for more than a moment when the unmistakable sound of the post arriving made itself present.

"Go get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from over his newspaper, having evidently seen that Dudley had already ploughed through his second helping of breakfast, and was currently seating himself on the couch in the living room.

"Make him get it!" Dudley retorted, gesturing vaguely in Harry's general direction as he reached for the remote on the couch which controlled Dudley's favourite thing in the whole world — the television.

"Get the post, boy!" Vernon clearly wasn't giving Harry the option of an out as he had Dudley. Harry stood, easily resisting the urge to sigh as he plastered that same, artificial smile onto his face and made his way towards the door.

At first glance, there appeared to be nothing of interest in the pile of mail. A postcard from Vernon's sister Marge, a magazine, and a bill. Upon a second glance, Harry froze, his jaw falling open in slack-jawed disbelief as he saw the yellow envelope with vivid green handwriting that was clearly adorned with his name.

_Mr. H. J. Potter,_

_The Cupboard Under The Stairs,_

_No. 4 Privet Drive, _

_Little Whinging, Surrey._

"Hurry up!" his uncle called from the living room, snapping Harry from his reverie as he reflexively flinched before quickly blanking his face, something else he had become rather adept at in the last number of years.

Making up his mind, Harry slipped the piece of parchment into his pocket, his natural curiosity overriding his sense of self-preservation. He knew that his Uncle would never allow him the letter and Harry could not have found himself more intrigued as to who on earth could possibly be writing to him, or why they might find the need to do so. He had never been important. Smart and talented, yes, but unimportant. He was simply Harry. The small, quiet boy who kept to himself as his relatives did everything in their power to cast him in their shadow.

Little did small, unimposing Harry Potter know that the letter which he held in his hands would change his life forever, even if he wouldn't get to read it for several hours due to the extensive list of chores that awaited him upon his arrival back to the sitting room.

* * *

_**That night, in the cupboard under the stairs...**_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harry read the contents of the letter for the seventh time, still hardly daring to believe what lay in front of him.

There was one thought coursing through his mind over and over, seeming to be the sole component of a repetitive loop that may well never end.

It was magic; that's how he had done it all.

Any other child would likely have scoffed or perhaps even laughed at the ridiculousness of such a letter, but not Harry. He had searched for years, tried everything he could to find how he could do the impossible things he could do and had come to no logical conclusion. In his mind, that only meant that the conclusion, whatever it may be, must have its roots in something illogical. This letter, perhaps more so than anything Harry had ever encountered, fit the definition of illogical quite precisely.

He took a deep, calming breath as a rare, true smile spread across his face at the idea of magic and its possibilities. Perhaps even more exciting to him was the idea of a boarding school.

No Dursleys for ten months.

He wasn't going to delude himself into thinking he would acquire friends. He was hardly opposed to the idea, but years of experience told Harry that such a thing was rather unlikely. Nobody ever took him seriously; no one ever became friends with him.

'Yes, but there isn't going to be your horrid oaf of a cousin to scare them all away at Hogwarts, is there?'

This thought did give Harry pause, but he pushed it away ruthlessly. He wouldn't go looking for friends; that always ended in disaster. If by some lucky coincidence he managed to acquire some, all the better, but he refused to allow his hopes to rise too high.

Well, he supposed that perhaps, that couldn't be said about his first year of life.

The only thing Harry could remember at all from that first year — at least he assumed it was his first year of life, was the sensation of something soft running through his hair, and an odd, green light so bright it was blinding. And of course, those two words. Two words that Harry now suspected may have something to do with the world in which he was entering. The first two words Harry had ever known.

Avada Kedavra.

Harry found it off, almost odd that he couldn't remember more. His memory truly was near eidetic. He could recall, without issue, almost everything he had ever done since his arrival at Privet Drive, even having vague memories of that first day. As time progressed, his memory became more vivid, to the point that he could easily and confidently say he remembered everything that took place after his sixth birthday in vivid detail. Harry could recall even the most unimportant margins from hulking tomes that he had read years earlier without issue.

One of his earlier memories with the Dursleys was of Dudley's third birthday party. Harry had tried to correct the magician that Vernon and Petunia had hired as entertainment, telling him that his Abra Kadabra was incorrect. He'd got a firm reprimand from Vernon and he hadn't left his cupboard for several days. He had not been physically punished. He had been too young at the time; that had not started until he was around six or seven.

Harry smiled bitterly at the memory, not lost in the irony that now, he very well may have been correct in his criticism. He didn't reflect on it for long. He tried to think as little about the Dursleys as possible, even while under their roof. Instead, he waited several hours until he thought it safe to sneak out of his cupboard and found himself a piece of paper and a pen. He had become quite adept at sneaking around in his life out of pure necessity.

Before he knew it, he was back in the safety of his cupboard, pen and paper in hand, and only then did he begin to write.

_Dear Deputy Headmistress,_

_Thank you for your letter. I appreciate you reaching out and would love to accept your invitation, but there are a few things that may stop me from doing so._

_I didn't know that witches or wizards existed until I read this letter, so I have no idea how to go about doing this._

_Secondly, without getting into more detail than I'd like, my guardians definitely would not support me going off to a boarding school of any kind._

_If you have solutions to any or all of these things, please write back as soon as possible._

_I hope to see you on September the first. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

It took him two drafts, but Harry was fairly happy with how his final product had come out. It pointed out all of his issues without sugar-coating any of it, but at the same time, it didn't give away facts he very much would like to keep to himself. He did, however, come to a startling realization upon the completion of his letter.

He had no clue how to send the letter

He had no idea what "we await your owl" meant, and for some reason, he doubted very much that the post office would deliver this message to a school of magic. Sighing, he rolled over, resigning himself to the fact that he would just have to come up with something tomorrow.

* * *

_**July 2, 1991**_

_**No. 4 Privet Drive**_

_**8:01 AM**_

Harry set the final plate of food down in front of his aunt, slumping himself down into the final chair at the table. He would be expected to clear the table and wash the dishes once the Dursleys had finished eating their meal. There had been nothing left today, which meant that Harry would have to wait until lunch, where his aunt would likely provide him with a piece of bread, or an apple, or something else of similar quantity to pass him over until dinner. At that point, he would be expected to make enough food for the family, plus a meagre amount for himself.

He was a bit nervous as his intense green eyes surveyed the four of them. Breakfast was almost sub-standard today, as it had been the day previous. He couldn't help it, Harry's mind was just in other, far more interesting places. He had managed to send the letter off to wherever it was going that following morning when, to his bemusement, an owl was waiting for him out on the front lawn. The creature quickly took Harry's letter in its beak and flew off, prompting the boy to blink and shake his head, wondering what exactly he was getting himself into when it came to this new world of magic and mystery. He'd comforted himself rather easily, justifying that whatever he was going into, it could not be worse than where he had come from.

He was however, quite apprehensive about the reply. He doubted very much that he had been tricked. He had a sort of sixth sense for lies, and he did not think this was one. On top of that, it was, as crazy as it sounded to Harry, the best explanation he had been given thus far as to how he could do any of what he had done in his life. In spite of that, he was still quite nervous.

What if the owl just flew in with the reply letter?

He would never get the letter off of his relatives and they would know exactly what he had done. He had only been taken to the hospital once, after one of Vernon's reprimands had gone too far, but this time, Harry suspected he would be staying several nights if the Dursleys found out what had transpired over the past few days.

He was snapped out of his reverie when the thunderous sound of a very loud knock on the front door caught his attention. Vernon, with his mouth full of French toast, grunted, gesturing for Harry to go and open the door. He stood, nodding to his Uncle and making his way to the door, expecting the milkman, or a salesman or someone else of similar standing. What he did not expect was whatever it was that greeted him.

The man in the door had to be ten feet tall, and he was without a doubt twice as wide and twice as thick as the average man. Even Harry, who prided himself on his emotional control, was left gaping like a fish for several seconds before, with a great effort, he managed to shake off his dazed state. Even then, he found himself at a complete and utter loss for words. Mercifully for him, he didn't have to speak, as the giant in front of him broke the ice.

"Blimey, 'Arry, how ye've grown in the last ten years! Last time I saw ya, I could fit ya in the palm of me hand!" The giant was beaming, positively beaming down at Harry, looking for all intents and purposes as if he had found a long-lost treasure. Finally, surprising even himself in the process, Harry managed to find his voice.

"Um… sir, I don't mean to be rude, but… who are you?"

The giant chuckled. "Oh yeah, guess I must look like a right sight, wouldn't I?" He held out a massive hand, which Harry shook as best he could. "The name's Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone just calls me 'agrid. I'm keeper o' grounds and keys at 'ogwarts. Ya'll know all 'bout 'ogwarts, o' course!"

"Um, not exactly, Hagrid."

Hagrid blinked, looking confused. "Eh?"

"I only just found out about Hogwarts," Harry admitted cautiously. "I read about it in the letter, but I was never told about Hogwarts or magic before that letter came."

For several seconds, the two of them stood there, blanketed by a heavy, almost oppressive silence. Internally, Harry thought this silence likely would have stretched on until the end of time had they not been interrupted, to his horror, by the booming voice of his uncle.

"Boy! Who is it at the door? Don't be holding them up!" Upon hearing the voice and the manner with which it addressed Harry, the man — Hagrid, growled almost animalistically as he pushed past Harry without warning, slowly and deliberately stomping his way inside.

"Sir… Hagrid!" Harry tried as his heart leapt into his throat. "I'm not sure that this is the best idea!" His cries fell on deaf ears. With dread in his heart, he slowly and cautiously followed Hagrid into the sitting room.

"Good morning," said his uncle as he finally looked up from his magazine, "how can we-" but suddenly, his voice died in his throat as his mouth fell open in shock at the sheer magnitude of the man who stood in front of him.

"Do you mean to tell me," growled Hagrid, his voice shaking with barely contained fury as Dudley whimpered from the corner of the room, "that all this time, you've told the boy NOTHING?!" This last word escaped in a bellow. This time, even Vernon shrank back from the man's fury. Harry flinched horribly as well, but Hagrid, whose back was turned, saw nothing of that occurrence. Hagrid shook his great head, realizing he clearly wasn't going to get any answers from the three Dursleys and instead turned to face Harry. "If they haven't told ya anything 'bout magic, what have they told ya about yehr parents?"

As he asked that question, Harry felt dread clasp even more tightly around his heart. He just knew that what he was about to say would somehow change his life forever.

* * *

_**Several hours later, in Diagon Alley...**_

Harry sat in stiff-jawed silence in a small cafe across from Hagrid as he allowed the revelations of the past few hours to wash over him.

Not only was he about to enter a world of magic. Not only had the Dursleys lied about his parents, but he was entering into a world where he had a brother! If that wasn't enough, his brother was, apparently, one of the most famous people in that magical world. Even that was not all. His brother — twin brother, as a matter of fact, was famous for surviving a curse that was supposed to be impossible to survive and somehow destroying the most powerful dark sorceress in a thousand years In the process.

Despite all of that, of all the unbelievable truths that had been revealed to him, he felt as though only one truly mattered. It was the same truth that had his insides burning with the flames of fury as he did everything in his power not to lash out with what he now knew to be magic. He'd done so before, though not often. There was, after all, a reason that Dudley and his gang had started staying clear of Harry a little over a year ago, when odd things began to happen to them, increasing in severity until finally, they'd got the hint and left Harry well enough alone.

No, the truth that wracked his body, that rattled his mind, that made him want to destroy everything around him was, in many ways, so much smaller than many of the other secrets that had been revealed to him, but to Harry, it meant the world.

His father was alive.

Not only alive, but his father had _willingly _left him with the Dursleys.

"Are ya okay, Harry?" Hagrid asked, twisting his massive hands in evident concern once the silence became longer than what was strictly normal.

"Perfectly fine," Harry answered in a cold voice that clearly indicated anything but.

"I told 'im he was bein' stupid! He's a good man though," he insisted. "Yer dad made a dumb mistake. A really dumb mistake, but trust me Harry, he's a good man. if ya just give 'im a chance-"

"I will give him a chance," said Harry, finally looking up to meet Hagrid's dark eyes. For the first time in many years, Hagrid actually flinched at the sight in front of him. Those eyes were glowing. Not twinkling like those of Professor Dumbledore, but quite literally glowing. "I will give him just as much of a chance as he gave me." Harry stood, quickly swiping up the money bag his father had provided for the two of them as he turned to leave.

"Hang on! Where are ya goin'?"

"Sorry, Hagrid," said Harry genuinely, shooting an apologetic look towards the giant over his shoulder, "but I think I need to be alone right now."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Harry pushed a brand new, top-of-the-line trunk carrying enchantments like feather-light charms, bottomless pockets, and even an ability to force whatever the owner wanted to the top of the correct compartment through mere thought as well as a lock queued to a spoken password. The trunk contained many of his school things like a cauldron, potions ingredients, a telescope and even a smaller school bag with similar enchantments. It was also full of Harry's course books, as well as several for his own reading pleasure. Some of the titles among this pile were _The Punctuality Of Purebloods: A Crash Course in Wizarding Etiquette, The Wizengamot: An In-Depth Guide Into The Intricacies of Magical Politics, The Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts, A Beginners Guide to Duelling and Defensive Magic _and _Hogwarts, A History_.

Harry had also purchased an owl-order subscription so he could have anything else mailed to him that he wanted just by sending the shop an owl. He would receive a catalogue each month with the store's full selection. He now only had three stops left. One was Madam Malkin's robes shop. Another was the magical pet store he had glimpsed. After seeing the usefulness of owls first hand, he fully intended to buy one for himself. The third and final destination was the one he was most excited for.

A wand shop!

Harry didn't know the exact conversion between pounds and galleons, but over the past few hours of shopping and exploring, he had deduced that what he had in his bag was a lot, and he meant _a lot_ of money and would likely cover him for the year.

Harry smiled to himself, taking a sort of savage pleasure in spending his father's money. As he made his way into the robes shop, he was quickly greeted by an older woman who must have been Madam Malkin. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asked, causing Harry to nod, shooting her his all too familiar smile. She smiled back at him. "Follow me to the back, please. There is another young boy being taken care of as we speak." Harry followed her, stepping up onto a stool beside a tall, thin boy with slick, blond hair and dark grey eyes.

"Hello," said the boy. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes."

"First year as well?" Harry nodded. "My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands." He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley, something that didn't leave a positive taste in his mouth, but he said nothing. If his cousin had taught him anything, it was to not rise to the challenge.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No."

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, having no idea what Quidditch was. Well, he was fairly certain that it must have been a game or sport of some kind, but beyond that, he was clueless.

"I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"Not really." He did know what the four houses were. Hagrid had mentioned his parents were in Gryffindor and Harry had pressed him rather hard for details on all four houses. His opinions seemed heavily biased to Harry, but he had managed to ascertain what he thought was likely most of the picture. Thus far, Harry hadn't considered which fit him best. He'd been dealing with what he considered to be more than enough for one day.

"Maybe Ravenclaw." he answered. Academics had always been a strong suit of his.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? I know I'll be in Slytherin though. All our family has been — imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm." He didn't really mind loyalty. He thought, as a matter of fact, people with such a quality could have greatly improved his life up to this point.

"Say, what's your blood status?" the boy asked him, catching Harry a bit off guard.

'Blood what?' Harry thought

He was unknowingly rescued by Madam Malkin. "That's you done, dear." she pronounced, prompting Harry to step down off of the stool.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you," he lied to the other boy, his charming smile well and fully in place. "I'll see you at Hogwarts." He then turned, handing to Madam Malkin a note from his father that had also been pressed into his money bag, one dictating that Harry wanted a full wardrobe. The man had thankfully left the specifications blank. "I'll be in touch about the specifics."

When he exited the robes shop, Harry set his sights on one thing and one thing only — a wand shop. It turned out that it was harder to find than Harry would have thought.

As he searched, he also looked for anywhere that appeared to have the ability to fix his eyesight. In a world of magic, he thought such a thing seemed perfectly reasonable and realistic. Thus far, he had not found either of his desired treasures but as he walked, he paused, noticing a rather dark alley that appeared to lead to an entirely different sector altogether. Harry could make out the outlines of more buildings down that way, and, to his delight, at the moment, it seemed far less busy than Diagon Alley.

'Might as well give it a shot.'

As he walked further and further into this new sector of the alley, Harry began to realize just how sketchy a place he was clearly entering into. Many of the passers-by were eyeing him a bit too hungrily for his tastes and Harry, emulating the aura he tried to project around Dudley and his gang, did everything he could to give off the impression that he was not to be trifled with.

Finally, Harry came to what appeared to be a specialized apothecary. When he entered, the place seemed empty.

"Good afternoon."

Harry likely would have jumped, but he had been well conditioned to both jump scares and restraining physical reactions. So in return, he merely inclined his head to the figure who now stepped from the shadows. The man was tall and paper-thin with skin as white as milk and eyes as black as tunnels. Harry had no idea if the magical world contained vampires, but if it did, he suspected very much that he was staring at one.

"Good afternoon."

The man, or vampire, or whatever he was, chuckled. "Such courage from one so young. What can I do for you today?"

"I was wondering if there was any way you could cure my eyesight? If not, I was wondering if you could point me somewhere that could?"

The man stared at Harry with those dark, dead-looking eyes."I can do that, yes, but It will be costly." His smile grew. "It will be expensive as well, but I am speaking of more than galleons."

"What else would it cost me?"

"Blood," By this point, Harry was quite confident that he was indeed in the presence of a real-life vampire. "Not for me," it specified, as if realizing exactly where Harry's mind had gone, "it is a necessary component of the method I will use to heal your eyes."

"How much blood?"

The creature grinned wickedly again. "Quite a lot, I suspect. You may also be interested in purchasing some blood-replenishing potions to ensure you will not be too weakened at the conclusion of the process."

"So, I'll be weaker than normal then?"

"Certainly."

"How do I know this isn't a trap?"

The vampire chuckled. "I would not strike you down, child," it assured him. "At least, not without a very good reason for doing so."

"Why not?"

The creature's eyes locked upon his and Harry had the odd feeling of being x-rayed. "Because it will be far more interesting to see what you make of yourself, Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened. How the hell did the thing know his name? Harry didn't sense that the creature was lying and in all of his life, he had never failed to pick up on a lie.

"Well then," he acquiesced, "I guess we should get started?"

The process took several hours and Harry, trying as he might, really couldn't keep up with what was going on in front of him. The creature drew odd, complex patterns on the floor with some kind of dust. Harry would later learn that that, whatever it was, had been nothing more than a placeholder. This had been the time-consuming part of the procedure, taking up multiple hours on its own. By the time the creature straightened up from its work, it was dark outside.

"And now," it said with some interest, "now the blood enters the arena." Slowly and deliberately, he took a long, thin knife from out of his robes and began to march towards Harry.

"If I need to be cut, I want to do it myself."

The vampire paused, eyeing him up and down before chuckling. "You are an odd wizard, Harry Potter. Sensible — more so than most in fact, but odd." The vampire handed Harry the knife, handle-first, and after taking a deep, calming breath, Harry cut open his palm. He had been nowhere close to remotely prepared for the terrifying amount of blood that poured from such a normal-looking cut.

"It is necessary," assured the vampire as he took Harry by the wrist and dragged him around the room, directing him to spatter blood all over the symbols he had drawn out on the floor. His hand was unnaturally cold. "Your blood is a medium."

After several minutes, Harry was pale and shaky. He felt as if he would faint at any moment but just then, the vampire directed him into the middle of the circle and stepped into the shadows before he returned with a long, silvery clump of hair that seemed to glow in the moonlight that now filtered through the window.

The creature put the hair in front of Harry and stepped back, well clear of the odd symbols and began to speak in a language that Harry didn't understand. Slowly, Harry began to feel a prickling sensation starting at his feet that seemed to methodically creep up his body. At first, it was as if he had slammed his funny bone. As the chant grew louder and faster, Harry quickly found that the stabbing feeling intensified to far more than that. As it ran up his body, it filled his chest, closed around his throat, ripped at his gums and then, finally reached his eyes, where it peaked, becoming far more than tingling as his eyes quite literally felt as if they would burn out of his head at any moment.

Oddly, as if from far away, Harry heard screaming that he would later know to be his own. Screaming that, mercifully, didn't reach the street due to the wards on the walls. Just as distantly, Harry felt himself fall to his knees, though the fact only half-registered in his mind as he clawed at his face in desperation. A minute or so later, just as he thought for sure he would die from the pain, it stopped as suddenly as it started. The blinding white light that had consumed everything in his vision receded and Harry slowly, ever so slowly removed his glasses, realizing that, to his awe and astonishment, he could see perfectly.

"Congratulations, you can see just as the world around you truly is."

Harry tried to stand but found he couldn't. He was too shaky, too weak. A moment later, several vials were forced into his hands, and only after drinking all of them on the command of the vampire could Harry finally stand. He could see, from the reflection on the glass, that he was an absolute mess.

"Through that door," indicated the vampire, "will be a place for you to clean yourself up and change if that trunk has any clothes in it."

Harry sighed with relief. He wasn't overly enthusiastic about walking out into a street like this one looking so vulnerable. It took him about ten minutes to clean himself up and change, but when he did, he promptly exited back into the main shop and faced the vampire, who appraised him one final time.

"That will be one-hundred galleons, Harry Potter." Harry would have winced at the price had he not had more than enough and had it not been his father's money he was paying with.

He paid without complaint, took hold of his trunk and made for the door as quickly as he could. The vampire made no attempt to stop him, though Harry could practically feel his unnaturally dark eyes fixated on his back as he made to leave the shop and re-enter the hazardous streets of Knockturn Alley.

Just as he was about to step through the door, the creature's hiss of a voice called to him for a final time.

'If you are asked how your eyesight was fixed, I encourage you to lie." The creature's lips tightened. "What your ministry foolishly deems as the dark arts are not viewed in such a positive light by your kind." The vampire disappeared back into the shadows as Harry bemusedly stepped back into the alley.

Harry, marvelling at the ease of his vision without glasses scanned the street up and down, looking for the way from which he had come in order to find the wand shop that Hagrid had spoken of back on the other side. In searching, his eyes fell upon a small building with the words _Hephaestus's Custom Wands_ imprinted upon its sign.

Harry had always been fascinated by Greek mythology, so the name Hephaestus alone commanded his attention, as he thought it was a rather clever illusion.

Tentatively, he crept his way towards the entrance of the shop, making sure he wasn't being stalked by god only knew what was in this alley. He felt miles better after downing those admittedly vile potions, but he still felt weaker than he would typically feel on a regular day. That was the exact moment when Harry realized he may well have used up his supply of "regular days".

When he reached the entrance of the shop, he tentatively pushed open the door and stepped inside. When he did so, he quickly realized that he was not the only customer. There were two other people in the shop who seemed to be waiting for its owner. Unlike the vampire from his last venture, Harry was at least reasonably sure that the two of them were human.

Both of them were women. Or, to be more precise, one of them was a woman and one of them was a girl.

They were very clearly a mother and a daughter, as the shorter of them, who could not have been older than Harry, was a spitting image of the taller woman. It was probably safe to assume that in terns of her height, she would likely follow in her mother's footsteps. This fact rang even more true when Harry considered that she didn't look to be any older than him. In fact, he thought she might have even been younger, yet they were almost exactly the same height. Both women had platinum blonde hair and pale, perfect skin. When they turned to appraise Harry, he actually stiffened. Their eyes may have been the most magnetic things he had ever looked at. They were a bluish-silver, with specks of the latter colour standing out vividly in their irises.

He met the young girl's gaze and no longer saw the bluish-silver of her irises. Instead, he saw a dark, abandoned street as he, Harry, stepped out of the apothecary and walked towards the wand shop he now stood in.

He supposed he wasn't the only one who could glimpse the thoughts of others.

At that thought, memories of his own exploits over the years floated to the surface. Memories of him peering into the eyes and surface thoughts of others. Harry's eyes narrowed as he did everything he could to push back, focusing on the bluish-silver of her eyes, which he could still make out through a sort of haze. As he did so, the image changed, though this time, it was not one that was familiar to him.

He — or more likely — she was reading a book. There came a knock from the door behind her, and a woman that Harry recognized from moments earlier entered the room, clearly intent on speaking to her daughter. What she said though, Harry never found out, as just as the memory started, he felt an extremely sharp, extremely sudden pulse of pain run through his mind and quickly he looked away, causing the world around him to come back into focus as dazedly, he shook his head.

The other girl was still looking at him. Her eyes now shone with curiosity whereas before, they had merely reflected her indifference.

"Do I even want to know?" asked a strong, deep voice from somewhere in the corner of the room. Harry wondered what was up with wizards and their obsession with hiding in shadows.

Out of the aforementioned shadows stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man with short, cropped grey hair and a long, bushy beard of the same colour. He was well-built and had well-calloused hands and dark brown eyes.

The girl's mother, who's eyes had narrowed upon the completion of her daughter's interaction merely shook her head, taking a rather firm grip on her daughter's shoulder. "I don't think that will be necessary, Master Hephaestus, but I thank you for your concern." She shot a quick glance towards her daughter, and Harry had the feeling there would be a lecture coming later that day.

The girl didn't seem to care much, as she continued to look at Harry and locked eyes with him once more. This time, nothing out of the ordinary transpired, but he could feel the raw intensity of her gaze and felt as if she were trying to look into his very soul.

"Who are you?" the girl asked. Her voice was soft, yet cool, and gave away nothing as to her internal thoughts.

Harry didn't so much as flinch. "Sorry, but this doesn't seem like the place to be giving out my name."

The girl looked annoyed for a moment, but before she could speak, her mother beat her to the punch.

"Relax, Charlotte. Not everybody grows up with the luxury of being able to walk through this alley without fear." The girl, Charlotte, looked extremely miffed, probably because now Harry had her name and she did not have his.

"Should we get this out of the way then?" asked the large man whom Harry presumed was the wandmaker. "I don't have all night and I have a feeling that your wand will be very complicated." He indicated Charlotte when he spoke and she nodded. He turned to Harry. "Stay here while I get this one sorted out, will you?" Harry didn't quite know what the man meant by that but nodded, doing as he was told as the man and the two ladies walked through a door leading off of the lobby. Once they had passed through, Harry could hear nothing of their conversation, and ascertained that had likely been the exact purpose for them leaving in the first place.

* * *

Charlotte had been sure that nothing could distract her from the joy and excitement that had accompanied her all the way from their family manor to the dingy corner of Knockturn Alley they now resided in. She had been very much mistaken. She had not expected anyone to be occupying the low-key, high-priced wand shop that her family had always frequented. To her surprise, not only was the shop occupied, but it was so by a boy who looked no older than Daphne. On top of that, he was alone with no parent or guardian in sight and if even that was not enough, he seemed to know and be a capable user of Legilimency, even if his Occlumency had seemed non-existent.

How would he know one and not the other?

Now, as she and her mother, Adriana, followed Hephaestus into a more private setting, Charlotte quickly cleared her mind and allowed her focus to shift from the odd boy to the odd wall that stood in front of her.

* * *

Some time later, Charlotte and Adriana were back out on the streets of Knockturn Alley. Charlotte braced herself. She knew all too well that a lecture was on its way. "That was a poor showing of control, Charlotte. Why did you take it upon yourself to assault the mind of the defenceless boy without reason?"

Briefly, Charlotte debated telling her mother that the "defenceless boy" had managed to get his licks in too, but she decided that information was better kept to herself. "There's something… different about him," she finally answered. "Surely you felt it too?"

Adriana hummed softly. "An admittedly potent aura is hardly a good reason to legilimize a boy whom you may never meet again."

Though Charlotte had no good retort for such a remark, she had the unmistakable feeling that she and the boy, whatever his name was, would meet a few more times in the not-so-distant future.

* * *

_**Later that night, at the home of Hephaestus... **_

It was a mentally drained Hephestentine Gregorovich that settled himself down in bed with a sigh, as he pressed his large, calloused hands to his temples.

'What are the odds?' he thought to himself. The boy had been as curious as the girl before him. Both had favoured ebony, though their cores differed greatly. The girl had favoured a dragon heartstring from a Ukrainian Ironbelly and the boy had favoured a feather from the tail of a phoenix. Beyond that, what made the phenomena so mystifying and worrying was that, if the rumour about that Ironbelly heartstring was to be believed, a heartstring he had salvaged from the remains of his grandfather's shop years earlier, both young children were now in possession of wands irrevocably linked to the two greatest dark sorcerers of the past century.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Some of the dates in this chapter don't line up with canon (like Malfoy being in the alley when he was). This was intentional. I will play with the timeline when it benefits the plot. I'll only speak on it here, just so I don't get reviews about it in the future. Same goes for things like the phoenix feather. There is one extra one in this story, meaning there are three brother wands. It was not a mistake, just a conscious choice to change canon, and it will be explained way later.**

**I don't love this chapter, but it was necessary. I do intend to subvert most of the tropes eventually, but I had to establish a lot of them here in order to do so. The bit at Privet Drive is too much of an info-dump for my liking, but I promise future chapters are not nearly as dry. The first three or four are a bit dry, but the story improves drastically after that.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 6th, 2020 with the assistance of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	3. TFA Ch 2: The Other Potter

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 2: The Other Potter**

* * *

_**September 1, 1991**_

_**No. 4, Privet Drive**_

_**7:45 AM**_

Harry paced back across his new bedroom at No. 4, Privet Drive for what must have been the thousandth time that morning. He had never been so excited for anything in his entire life, though in fairness, that wasn't saying a whole lot. Harry had never allowed himself to become excited much before. He had, as a matter of fact, essentially been conditioned to associate excitement with disappointment. He attempted to take that same approach with Hogwarts, magic, and all the rest of it but he could not.

He'd spent a fair few days brooding about his father's betrayal after returning from the alleys via public transport. He'd mercifully been able to simply walk into the Gringotts atrium and ask for some of his galleons to be converted into pounds, at which point he had found out that the conversion rate was 5 pounds to a galleon. He had been rather surprised when the Dursleys, obviously fearing the return of more Magicals, had decided to give Harry Dudley's spare room upon his return.

A year or so ago, that was something that probably would have made Dudley protest much more than he had. But now, he was too wary of his cousin to protest much at all. Ordinarily, Harry would have been sceptical of such out of character behaviour from the Dursleys and likely even looked for a trap of some sort. At that moment, however, still reeling from his father's betrayal, Harry had simply nodded along.

It wasn't as if he had forgiven his father. On the contrary, he was livid and wanted nothing more than to give James Potter a taste of the misery he'd endured as a result of his actions. At the same time, he wanted nothing more than to avoid his father. He'd left Harry to rot; he didn't deserve Harry's attention one way or the other.

His brooding had not lasted long, as Harry's natural curiosity had overtaken him, and he had promptly ripped into the pile of books that awaited him. Harry started with _The_ _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1,_ as he thought it would be rather useful.

It hadn't been overly long compared to novels and textbooks that Harry frequented in his day to day life. In comparison to those, it had been rather simplistic as well. He had read it very quickly, taking simplified notes in one of many enchanted notebooks he had purchased from the magical bookstore. The books pretty much granted him endless pages. It was also warded so that only he could open it.

It had taken him only one read through to memorize the book's contents, aided by his note- taking.

Next, he made his way through the first year sections of his Potions and Transfiguration textbooks. Since they would be applicable for multiple years, Harry would read the later year material eventually. He wanted to memorize the first year material as soon as possible.

He managed to read and memorize his Defence Against the Dark Arts book. It was something that interested him quite a lot. The idea of duelling, in particular, sounded rather appealing.

He would eventually break into his extra curricular books, but first, he wanted to make sure he was not socially incompetent in the wizarding world. It took him quite some time to get through the book on the Wizengamot, its history, and its many laws. He didn't have that one memorized, as it was far more complex and was the longest tome he'd ever seen, but he thought he had a strong grasp on the basics. For now, he figured that would be sufficient.

He thought that he should get on fine, barring a sudden desire to become a solicitor, a career that he was frankly not interested in. The book on wizarding etiquette did not take nearly as long to read, though it had been a rather monotonous usage of his time.

All in all, Harry did everything he could in the two months leading up to his arrival at Hogwarts to prepare. He worked through all of that material, plus his other first year books and quite a bit of magical theory in the mornings. Afternoons were spent writing with a quill, something he had never done before. That skill would apparently be a necessity. His evenings were spent with his wand out.

At first, he didn't cast any magic, merely practising the wand movements and focusing on the necessary intent. After reading in _Hogwarts, A History_ that underage magic was ignored until the child went to Hogwarts, Harry began to practice some of the practical first year material. He couldn't do much for Defence, but he did practice a lot of Transfiguration. The subject seemed to come quite naturally to him. Harry wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that he'd always been a rather visual person. Visualization was, after all, one of the key aspects of Transfiguration. He was limited too in Charms, though he practised the ones he could — for instance, the Levitation Charm.

By the time the first morning of September arrived, Harry had yet to find a spell that had truly given him issues. That was certainly a confidence booster of sorts. Despite that, Harry had to admit a fair bit of apprehension at entering into what, for all intents and purposes, was a whole new world to him. As he reflected upon his work whilst riding in his uncle's car on the way to London, Harry decided that he was rather happy with his preparations.

He just hoped they would be enough.

He wanted to succeed above all else.

Harry had decided that if he was going to avoid his father at the station, a decision he had made weeks prior, he would show him the errors of his past self through his actions instead of his words. He would outperform his brother, outdo him in every way he could. One day, he would surpass his father as well, but that would, unfortunately, take much longer.

He made his way through the station as quickly as he could, cursing his new snowy owl- whom he had chosen to name Nemesis after the Greek goddess of revenge- for the racket she was making. At the same time, he thanked the heavens— or Merlin, as magicals apparently did— that the author of _Hogwarts, A History_ had possessed the foresight to note down how to get past the seemingly solid barrier and onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Harry suspected he would have managed to figure it out one way or another simply by tailing people, but this was much more ideal, seeing as he wanted to get onto the train as promptly as possible

When he crossed over to the other side of the station, the one that was hidden through the use of some rather advanced magic, he took note of the hordes of people wandering in every direction. Their attires seemed to be split near evenly between wizarding robes and muggle attire that he was far more familiar with. The massive scarlet steam engine dominated much of the platform, and Harry could not help but quirk an eyebrow at the words _Hogwarts Express_ ostentatiously imprinted upon it.

He had the distinct impression that he was being watched as he was nearing the train. Turning, Harry saw a girl about his age staring at him openly with a blank expression. She stood beside a tall woman who could have passed as her doppelgänger if she wasn't likely twenty-some years older. Both of them had platinum blonde hair and enchanting silver eyes that seemed to have an odd, bluish hue to them. The woman beside her was staring at the train, intently watching the back of a young woman with long, dirty blonde hair make her way aboard.

The other girl though, her daughter, Harry assumed, continued to watch him intently, not seeming to care that he was staring right back at her. She couldn't have been older than him. His age, at the latest, Harry would guess.

The world around him gave an abrupt and terrifying lurch as several images flashed through his mind.

He was standing next to the slim, blond boy in the robes shop, thinking of how he reminded him painfully of his cousin. He was running from Dudley and his gang, thinking of how badly he wanted to escape...

'No!' he thought furiously. 'Not this one! Not again!'

Harry felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind as the images cut off suddenly, not quite playing through to their conclusion. He was breathing a bit heavily and he had slumped against the barrier beside him. Whatever had just happened, Harry was reasonably sure the girl who was still staring at him had caused it.

She no longer wore the thin, innocent smile on her face. She now wore a curious, calculating look that he found far more off-putting than her smile.

As he studied her one final time, Harry noticed that it was the same girl from the wand shop in Knockturn Alley. That would mean that whatever this odd occurrence was, it was the second time in as many meetings with the girl that it had happened.

Definitely not a coincidence, in that case.

Harry didn't give her the chance to do anything like that again. He promptly turned on his heel and ignored her stare as he quickly made his way onto the train.

As soon as he was onboard, Harry swiftly ducked into the last compartment and changed into his school uniform, marvelling for the hundredth time in the last number of weeks how great it felt not to have to deal with glasses. The ritual, for lack of a better term, had certainly been painful, but in his estimation had been more than worth it.

Harry removed a book from his bag, took out his wand and levitated his school things into the overhead compartment. Taking a seat, he opened _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and began to read. Some time later, Harry felt the train begin to move and he smiled, quite happy that no one had imposed on him. As if the world was simply out to spite him, he heard a soft knock on his compartment door a minute or so later and sighed, looking up to see two girls standing outside.

He nodded in their direction, prompting the girl in the lead to push the door open slowly. She was quite tall for their age, maybe three inches or so taller than Harry. She had a slim build with honey blonde hair, soft pale skin, full pink lips, and pale, icy-blue eyes. Harry thought she was rather pretty, but the fact didn't mean a whole lot in his eleven-year-old mind. Her friend looked to be a couple of inches shorter than Harry. She had strawberry blonde hair and sea-green eyes. Her features were soft, but not as defined as those of her companion.

"Hello," greeted the shorter girl, sounding rather apprehensive, "may we sit here?"

Harry didn't really see why not. It wasn't as if he could refuse them without being rude, and he honestly just wanted to go back to his book, so he nodded. When he heard a throat clear from in front of him, he looked up, almost jumping backwards when he realized that the shorter girl was now standing directly in front of him, her hand outstretched.

"My name's Tracey Davis, presumptive Lady to the House of Davis. It's nice to meet you."

Her greeting was formal, though her House seemed rather insignificant based on the lack of gusto in her introduction. He filtered through his memory bank. Davis wasn't a name he recognized; certainly not one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He didn't think it one of a powerful pureblood family anywhere on the political ladder either. Nonetheless, he took her soft hand in his.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Davis."

"What's your name?" she asked bluntly. Harry swore he saw her friend, who was trying to detach her owl's cage from her trunk, wince.

"You'll find out at the sorting," Harry had no intention of revealing that his brother was the Boy-Who-Lived. That wouldn't lead to any questions he felt particularly inclined to answer. He noticed that the other girl had extracted her cage and was reaching for her trunk, as well as her friend's. Harry took out his wand before she could do so. He was rather grateful for the wand holster he'd purchased, though it had taken some time to get used to.

"Wingardium Leviosa." he incanted, causing both of the trunks to float gracefully up into the compartment. The girl in front of him — Tracey Davis her name had been — gawked at him while her friend merely raised her eyebrows before making her way over to him as well.

"Wow!" exclaimed Tracey, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "That was amazing! When did you learn that spell? How did you do it? Can you teach me? Are you a first year? I bet you're brilliant if you are! You're definitely going to be a Ravenclaw-"

"Let the boy breathe, Tracey," said the other girl, rolling her eyes as she smiled at him. "A pleasure to meet you," she said, extending her own hand. On her right ring finger, unlike Tracey's, gleamed a stunning diamond ring adorned with what Harry thought might be a crest.

The ring of a pureblood heiress.

"...I am Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Founding House of Greengrass."

Harry immediately realized that he may have just lost any chance of keeping a low profile.

The Greengrass family, as he had read in _Nature's Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy, _was one of the most powerful and prestigious families residing in Magical Britain. They owned massive businesses all throughout the country. The largest of these was their infamous import/export corporation, but they also owned a law firm and some other miscellaneous businesses. They were noted as one of Magical Britain's richest families. It was impossible to tell exactly how much they or any of the other top families had, but they could very well rank at number one, according to the book.

On top of all that, they were also a Founding Twelve family.

There were rungs to the complex ladder of prestige that made up the country. There were houses, like Davis's. These families were new to the world, typically no more than a century old. Often, these were the houses that were started by a muggleborn, or a halfblood marrying a muggleborn, or in some cases, even a muggle.

Then, there were Ancient Houses. To qualify as an Ancient House, a family had to have lived in Magical Britain for 13 generations, which roughly translated to four-hundred years. A step above that was Ancient and Noble Houses. These were families that met the requirements for an Ancient House but also had at least one Order of Merlin First Class recipient in its history, or a former or present Chief Warlock or Minister for Magic. Second from the top were Ancient and Most Noble Houses. These houses had at least three Order of Merlin First Class recipients, Ministers for Magic, Chief Warlocks, or a combination of the three.

One could earn these ranks through the lesser Order of Merlin awards as well. Essentially, an Order of Merlin First Class was viewed as the equivalent of two Orders of Merlin Second Class, or three Orders of Merlin Third Class.

At the top of the political hierarchy were Founding Twelve Families. Half of them were extinct now, but to be a Founding Twelve Family, it meant that yours was one of the twelve families that helped to found the Wizengamot, and by extension, Magical Britain in the year 1008 AD. Though the Ministry of Magic was not founded until several hundred years later, this was historically considered as the founding of Magical Britain. The Founding Twelve Families were: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Emerys, Black, Longbottom, Nott, Greengrass, Peverell, Selwyn, and Lestrange.

Harry took her hand like he had Tracey's, but he did kiss the back of hers briefly. "I'm pleased to meet you, Heiress Greengrass."

"Oh come on!" put in Tracey. "You've got to give us something!"

Harry just quirked an eyebrow. "Sorry, but I don't see why I do."

"Oh fine, but at least tell me what that spell was?"

"The Levitation Charm." he enlightened. "It's fairly simple; I had no problems with it."

"You're definitely going to Ravenclaw," Tracey proclaimed with the air of someone all-knowing and powerful.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

Greengrass eyed him critically. "You don't seem too worried about it."

Harry just shrugged again. "Not really, no." She would at least be someone of importance. Friend, foe, or otherwise. "How about you?"

"I'll probably be sorted into Ravenclaw or Slytherin if I had to guess. Ravenclaw would have its advantages. It would probably have fewer drawbacks than Slytherin, but Slytherin is probably more useful to me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Political reasons."

Harry nodded. "And what about you?" he asked Tracey, not letting the girl direct the attention back onto him.

"Oh," she said, a bit taken aback, "um… I'm not really sure. Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, I guess."

Harry got the distinct impression that she was not a fan of the idea of going to Slytherin, something that made him rather curious. He had assumed she would want to stick with her friend.

"You never said which house you thought you would be sorted into." Harry had no doubt Daphne Greengrass's innocent diversion of the conversation had been very much intentional on her part.

"I don't know; same as you, pretty much. I think it will either be Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I have no idea which one."

He felt like he suited Ravenclaw or Slytherin best. He leaned towards Ravenclaw, though he supposed wanting to outdo the Boy-Who-Lived was rather ambitious of him. He'd heard there was a rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Though it would doubtlessly be annoying at times, he thought it may be quite humorous to go to Slytherin to spite the Potters, who had traditionally been Gryffindors for centuries according to _Nature's Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy._

"How intense is the rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins?" he asked, suspecting that at least Greengrass may be in a position to answer him.

"I think it depends on the person," she answered carefully. "My parents were both Slytherins and were never overly bothered by it, but others take it more seriously."

Before he could respond, the door opened, and two people stepped in, looking for all the world like the pair of them owned the train. "Have any of you seen my brother?" asked the boy in the lead. Harry's heart gave a jolt when he noticed the obvious similarities between the two of them.

They certainly looked similar, though there were a fair number of differences too.

This boy was maybe an inch or two taller, though he had a lot more muscle. Their facial features were quite similar, as well. Both twins' faces were sharp and defined, but Harry's were softer, more aristocratic-looking. He was at least a shade paler than his brother too. Their hair was the same shade and length, though where Harry's was tame and perfect, this boy's was messy and out of control. It looked much like Harry's before he'd tamed it through what he now knew to be magic.

Their eyes too were different. They were the same shape, but the shades were not the same. Where Harry's were a pale, intense green, his brother's were a deep hazel. He also wore elegant glasses. On the boy's temple, vivid as the night was dark, sat a scar shaped perfectly like the letter V.

"You're Charlus Potter!" Tracey breathed in apparent awe, sounding for all the world like she couldn't believe it. Harry winced. He knew his brother was famous, but he had never imagined that girls he had never met before would fawn over him.

"At your service," Charlus said with a lazy smile. "This is my best mate, Ron Weasley." He gestured to the tall, gangly redhead beside him; he too was smiling broadly. "Anyway, we're looking for my-" and then his eyes found Harry's and he froze. There was a moment of comprehension as his twin was clearly making sure the similarities were not coincidental. After a brief pause, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Harry?"

"Charlus."

"You… uh… don't look like I expected you to. All of our family have had glasses, and our hair doesn't really behave."

"Both of those are easy to fix, you know?" Harry wanted to throw the fact in the other boy's face for a reason that he couldn't quite explain.

"Paler too — wait… you fixed your eyesight? No one from our family does that."

"Until now."

"But it's tradition!" Charlus argued, sounding baffled as to why Harry would ever do such a thing.

"That's ridiculous." Harry countered. "What's the point in a tradition if it makes life harder for you? Besides, I would hardly have known, would I?" His voice grew a bit colder now, and Charlus recoiled.

"Look, Harry, dad said you might be a bit upset with us. I think we should go and talk about this in another compartment. I'd like to get to know my brother."

"Time out!" Tracey bellowed, drawing everyone's attention onto her as she glared at Harry. "Your brother is _the _Charlus Potter, _the _Boy-Who-Lived, and you didn't tell us?"

"No offence, but this is exactly why I didn't tell you." He looked up at Charlus, his face now sour. Having his cover blown had not been part of his plan. "We can talk at Hogwarts."

The Boy-Who-Lived just shook his head. "We'll talk now," Charlus countered, and his voice carried a certain amount of authority that surprised Harry. "Family is more important than friends, Harry."

The hypocrisy of his twin's statement made Harry want to curse him, but he didn't. Instead, he stood, inclining his head to the two witches before exiting after his brother and his friend, Weasley.

If for no other reason, he simply complied so that this conversation would be without witnesses. Except for Ron Weasley, apparently. That fact did not sit well with Harry.

"Anything off the trolly, dears?" a plump woman said as they neared a compartment that the two boys leading Harry seemed to have reserved with their bags.

"We'll take the lot!" Charlus said proudly, smiling as he piled a bit of everything into his pockets. "Harry needs a proper introduction into the wondrous world of wizarding sweets!"

A minute or so later, Harry had been buffeted into a compartment with the two boys and had had a mountain of treats dumped in front of him. Charlus took a seat across from him. "We do look a bit different," the other said. "Aside from the eyes and hair, I mean."

Harry snorted. "You drag your brother off after not talking to him for ten years and the first thing you say is that we look different?"

"Well, it's true," Charlus defended, blushing. "How did you fix your hair?" He sounded as if he wanted to strictly avoid whatever Harry had done.

"Magic," Harry said dully.

"Come off it, you lived with muggles. You couldn't possibly have-"

"Just because I lived with muggles doesn't mean I couldn't use magic." Charlus raised his eyebrows. "I willed my hair to not be a mess every day until one day, it wasn't."

Charlus raised his eyebrows even higher. "That's not possible," he dismissed. "Dad says wizards can't control their magic until they get to Hogwarts."

"Yet here I am," Harry coolly retorted. "Besides, it's not like father," he put an almost poisonous emphasis on the word, "hasn't made mistakes involving me in the past."

Charlus winced. "You're really mad about that, aren't you?"

"You would be too if you knew what they did."

"What did they do?"

"None of your business. If you cared so much, you should have convinced your Father to come and check in on me."

"He really does regret it, you know," Charlus said softly. "We talked about it before today. A lot recently, actually. He says it was the worst mistake of his life."

"He has no idea," Harry muttered darkly.

"You'll have to forgive him! He made a mistake and he knows it, but he had good reasons," said Charlus. "He was trying to protect you."

Harry snorted again. "If Voldemort came for one of us-" Ron jumped and Charlus gasped, his mouth falling open.

"Y-y-you said her name," his twin mumbled, sounding awed.

Harry scoffed. "Don't tell me the-Boy-Who-Lived is too afraid of Voldemort to use her fake name? Anyway, if Voldemort," he emphasized the name, causing both Charlus and Ron to wince, "came for one of us, surely it would have been you."

"Well yeah," said Charlus, "but I beat her once, I could've done it again. If you got caught in the crossfire, you might have been hurt like-"

"Like our mother," finished Harry without emotion. "You seem… very confident you could beat her again if she's even still alive."

"I beat her once," Charlus said proudly.

"How?" asked Harry. His voice was completely neutral, but he was annoyed now. This boy's confidence and bravado was reminding him far too much of Dudley, and that was without addressing the air of self-entitlement that seemed to surround him.

"Don't be thick," Weasley said exasperatedly, speaking for the first time. "Everybody knows that nobody knows how Charlus beat You-Know-Who."

Harry just blinked at the oxymoron. It was better not to think of such things. "If nobody knows how it happened, do they even know that it did happen in the first place? I mean… what if she just killed mum and ran off?"

"I beat her!" Charlus argued more loudly, causing Harry to quirk a brow.

"How?"

"I don't-"

"Don't know," Harry finished. "Once is a fluke," he said calmly, "twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. You're famous for something that you don't even remember. You're famous for something that you can't even prove happened. For all you know," he added bitingly, "I could be the Boy-Who-Lived. You're not the only one with a scar." He pushed aside his fringe to reveal the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. "And between me and you, a lightning bolt looks much better than a V."

He had no idea what was spurring him on, as such an outburst was most unlike him. Despite that, he was taking a great amount of savage pleasure from the whole thing. He supposed it must have been all the years of pent up frustration pouring out of him.

Charlus sputtered, but before he could go any further, the door slid open, and three figures stepped inside. Harry immediately recognized one of them as the boy he'd met in Diagon Alley two months ago.

"Is it true?" asked the boy in question. "They've been saying up and down the train that Charlus Potter is in this compartment."

"In the flesh," said Charlus, though his voice held none of the charm nor arrogance it had earlier. It was now cold and condescending.

The blond held out his hand, either failing to notice Charles's tone or choosing to ignore it. Harry suspected the latter. "A pleasure to meet you, Heir Potter. My name is Draco Malfoy; heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy."

Charlus made no move towards taking the boy's hand. "I know who you are, Malfoy. You can leave. I don't need your sort around."

An ugly look crossed Draco's face before he schooled his features. "Oh? I don't know, Potter," he drawled. "If you're going off making friends with Weasley already, I think you could use some help." He allowed a confident, charming smile to cross his face. "I can help you make sure you get on with the right sort."

"And I'm sure we can go party in our white masks and get matching dark marks."

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed coldly upon the conclusion of Charles's taunt. "You ought to be more careful of who you're accusing, Potter. An heir accusing another heir like that, and one with such a powerful-"

"I think you've got a few things mixed up, Heir Malfoy," Harry interjected, cutting efficiently across the rebuke.

Malfoy looked at him for the first time and his eyes narrowed once more. "Who are you?"

"Harry Potter, the actual Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. Charlus and I are twins; I was born first. I think you should leave before things get out of hand. You wouldn't want to hurt your family's reputation."

Malfoy evaluated Harry for a moment. "We've met," he remembered, eyeing him up and down. "You wore glasses then."

Harry just nodded and tilted his head towards the door. Malfoy took the hint. He inclined his head to Harry whilst sneering at Ron and Charlus as he made his exit. A very awkward silence fell over the trio for several minutes before the door was flung open again. This time, they were intruded upon by an ordinary-looking girl. Ordinary-looking, at least, if you discounted her bushy mane of brown hair and rather large front teeth.

Harry seriously wondered whether anybody in the wizarding world knew how to knock.

"Excuse me, but I'm looking for a toad. A boy named Neville has lost one."

"We haven't seen it," Charlus said quickly, trying to tuck away his wand as discreetly as possible. Harry hadn't even noticed it was drawn at all, but the girl's eyes sharpened on it at once.

"Oh! Were you going to do magic?"

"No," Charlus answered shortly.

"Oh — well I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course. I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard — I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Harry blinked in bemusement. She had rambled off all of that on one breath.

It seemed as if he wasn't the only one with a near eidetic memory, though he liked to think he was a bit more polite about it than she was.

"Ron Weasley," said the boy in question, who seemed to have recovered first, "this is Harry and Charlus Potter."

"Are you really?" Hermione asked Charlus. "I've read all about you, of course. You're in the _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Notable Magical Events of The Twentieth_ _Century_ and-"

"Yes, I am," Charlus confirmed, wisely cutting her off before she could get on a roll.

Hermione blinked this time. She clearly wasn't used to being cut off. As soon as she regained her gusto, her eyes fixed on Harry. "I never knew Charlus Potter had a brother. You're not mentioned in any of the books or-"

"Well I wouldn't be, would I?" Harry asked rhetorically, taking a page out of his brother's book and not letting Hermione build up too much momentum. "I didn't cause the fall of the Dark Arts, nor was I the centre of a notable event of the twentieth century."

"Well… no, I suppose not… but I still would have thought you'd have been mentioned."

"So sorry to disappoint." Harry's voice was dripping with false sympathy. He was about done with people by this point. "It's been a pleasure, Miss Granger, but I need to use the restroom." Harry stood and left, making quickly for the nearest bathroom, not planning to come out for several hours.

True to his word, he didn't, choosing instead to simply sit there and reflect on the day's events, numerous as they were. He'd not lost composure like that in a very long time. Something about his brother just rubbed him the wrong way, and that was without accounting for the pent-up frustration he had unleashed.

* * *

Harry did not emerge from the restroom until the driver warned that they would be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes. He quickly made his way into the compartment which he'd first occupied. Daphne and Tracey were still there, mercifully not in the midst of changing. He at least had the decency to knock.

"Where have you been?" Tracey exploded at once, but Harry did not give her time to say anything more than that. He merely crossed the room, grabbed his trunk and owl cage, and left, leaving a mildly amused Daphne Greengrass and an immensely annoyed Tracey Davis in his wake.

Suddenly, he was very grateful for the fact that he'd changed much earlier in the day.

Harry was the first of the first years to make it onto the platform and he could see, in the distance, the rough outline of a massive castle which he knew to be Hogwarts. For now, none of its more precise details could be discerned. He had seen an outside photograph in _Hogwarts, A_ _History,_ but he doubted it would be comparable to seeing it in person.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! Alrigh' there Charlus, Ron, Harry!" Harry recognized Hagrid at once. The man was, after all, rather hard to miss, let alone forget. He made his way towards the hulking man, shooting him a reassuring smile when he noticed that Hagrid was looking at him with a modicum of concern.

The first years followed Hagrid down a steep cliff and into a kind of docking station where several small, old, rickety-looking boats awaited them. "No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid boomed. Harry ended up with a very large, plain-looking girl, a sharp-looking boy with aristocratic features who stayed very quiet, and a tall, dark skinned boy with sharp, dark eyes. None of them said a word as they cruised across the water, though Harry nearly gasped aloud when he got his first sight of Hogwarts.

He was right; no picture did the thing justice, not with its sheer scale, or its hundreds, if not thousands of windows all lit up by torches in the darkness.

A few minutes later, they had all disembarked and followed Hagrid up a treacherous path to the large, oak front doors that seemed to lead directly into what Harry imagined would be the entrance hall of the castle. Hagrid raised a massive hand and loudly knocked three times on the door.

It swung open a moment later and a tall, thin, black-haired woman stepped forward.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said proudly.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said in a thick Scottish brogue, "I shall take them from here."

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

Professor McGonagall proceeded to give a detailed but succinct summary of the four Hogwarts houses. Harry was mollified to hear that there didn't seem to be any bias in her description. She struck him as a very strict taskmaster almost at once. It appeared as if she would not be one to cross in the future.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school." she was saying. "I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on the boy who had lost his toad. His cloak was fastened under his left ear. Ron's smudged nose also seemed to attract her attention. Harry glimpsed his twin trying madly to flatten his hair with no success. He could not help but smirk.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber.

They all got quite the scare when several ghosts floated straight through the wall, though they did not stay long. Within a matter of moments, Professor McGonagall had returned, and she quickly began to usher them into the Great Hall itself.

Harry heard his twin ask Ron if he knew how they were sorted as they walked, and to Harry's amusement, the boy answered with something about a troll.

Harry didn't know himself. It wasn't stated anywhere in _Hogwarts, A History_, but he was quite certain that was not it. In _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ it was said that trolls were known wizard killers. They were apparently a challenge for even a highly-skilled, fully grown wizard.

Harry very much doubted that any of them would be seeing a troll any time soon.

As they entered the Great Hall, his breath really did hitch. The vivid description in his book hadn't done the place justice, though he seriously doubted any description could have truly succeeded in doing just that.

The hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History._"

'Yes, you read,' thought Harry, who suspected a great deal of them had likely read that exact same passage. Even knowing about the charm, it was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall did not simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it anywhere near the house.

Harry was baffled as to what they could possibly be using such an artefact for. That was until a rip on the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat miraculously began to sing. Its song, as it turned out, was yet another summary of the houses. As much as Harry liked McGonagall's style, he had to admit, the hat was quite the salesman.

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So, we just have to put on the hat!" Harry heard Ron exclaim in outrage. "I'll kill Fred!" Despite his best efforts, Harry felt his lips twitch.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat- which fell right down over her eyes- and sat down. Harry recognized the surname. There was an Abbott who was Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and the family was an Ancient and Noble one. There was a moment's pause...

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw a ghost that must have been the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff House ghost, waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. Harry thought the Gryffindors looked like an awfully rowdy bunch.

"Bulstrode, Millicent." The large, plain girl whom Harry had sat with on the boat then became the first new Slytherin.

Harry was suddenly and painfully reminded of sports at school, where he was always chosen last. Not because he wasn't any good, but because people didn't want Dudley thinking they liked him.

'What if that happens here? What if it just doesn't sort me?'

'Don't be stupid!' a second voice said in his mind. 'You're definitely going to be sorted!'

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he replayed the second thought over and over again in his head, shoving down all thought to the contrary.

"Crabbe, Vincent" One of Malfoy's cronies from earlier became a Slytherin next.

"Davis, Tracey."

Harry noticed the inconsistencies of the hat. Sometimes it decided right away. Other times, it took quite some time. Tracey was one of these cases. The hat sat on her head for almost three minutes before loudly proclaiming, "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry felt a stab of empathy for her. He had been certain she wanted to avoid that option.

Malfoy's other crony, Goyle, became a Slytherin as well, and then Hermione Granger stepped up. The hat took an age with her, very nearly three and a half minutes, before it sent her off to Gryffindor. Harry could not help but notice she wore a rather pleased smile as she went.

"Greengrass, Daphne."

This sorting didn't take nearly as long. Within less than thirty seconds the hat proclaimed Daphne Greengrass a Slytherin.

Neville Longbottom, the boy with the elusive toad, took longer than anybody, stretching on for nearly five minutes before he was sent to Gryffindor.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Harry found himself rather amused when the hat shouted "SLYTHERIN!" before it had even fully settled on Malfoy's head.

Theodore Nott, the thin, quiet boy from Harry's boat also joined Slytherin, as did Pansy Parkinson before another set of twins, Patil and Patil, were split up, one going to Ravenclaw, the other to Gryffindor.

"Potter, Charlus."

The room went completely quiet as Charlus strode confidently up to the stool. Even though Harry could tell he was nervous, he thought he hid it well.

"Potter, did they say?"

"Charlus Potter?"

"_The_ Charlus Potter?"

"Gotta be Gryffindor!"

The hat took much longer with Charlus than Harry thought it would. He thought he seemed a very cut and dry Gryffindor, but the hat took nearly three minutes before sending the Boy-Who-Lived off to the house of the brave, accompanied by the loudest ovation he'd heard thus far.

"Potter, Harry," Professor McGonagall called out at long last, prompting him to actually sigh as he stepped forward. He just wanted this over with.

Much like Charlus, muttering followed him up to the stool, though it was much more confused, almost taken aback in tone.

"Another Potter?"

"As in, Charlus Potter?"

"He has a brother?"

"Is he related to Charlus?"

"Since when does the Boy-Who-Lived have a brother?"

"He's not in any of the stories."

Harry didn't know what that last one meant, and he had a sneaking suspicion he didn't want to, either. Keeping that in mind, he stepped forward instead of pondering on the comment. In the process, he earned a rare, encouraging smile from Professor McGonagall. He sat down and within seconds, his vision was obscured as she set the ancient hat atop his head.

'Hmmm,' said a small voice inside Harry's mind. 'Difficult, very difficult. I thought you might be after seeing inside your brother's head. A fantastic mind — oh yes, one of the best I have seen in countless years — that memory does serve you well, doesn't it? And the potential… oh yes! Oh yes, you could be great, Harry Potter. You could be very great indeed. Now, where do I put you?"

Harry stayed silent, resigned to any option.

'Really?' asked the hat. 'I expected you to be more difficult about this; your brother was quite stubborn, as a matter of fact.'

'I'm not my brother,' Harry thought back, trying to add venom to his thought, if such a thing was even possible.

'Oh, of that I am sure, don't you worry.' The hat chuckled. 'Now, to business. Hufflepuff is the easiest to eliminate. You have never known enough loyalty to appreciate it, and though it is something you seek in a friend, it is not a driving quality within you. You will be loyal to those you care for, but I suspect they will be a select few.'

That was fairly on point, in Harry's estimation.

'The next three are the most difficult. You certainly have courage, oh yes — plenty of it, at that. You could not have made it through your life without some of it. But again, I sense it is not a driving force. You would not run head-long into danger unless you had a very good reason.

'That leaves two, and it was always going to be one of them, was it not?

"With a mind like yours, any eagle would kill to call you a friend. You would define the values that Rowena cherished, and you would likely bring Ravenclaw glory it has not seen in several centuries. But I suspect you would become bored in that house rather quickly, and Slytherin would help you on your path to greatness, no doubt about that. Well, seeing as you are not being nearly as difficult about this as I feared you might be, better be "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry became almost instantly aware of deafening silence as he stood, passing the professor the hat as he politely inclined his head to her. She was one of the few in the room who did not seem overly surprised. She merely offered him a small, rather sad-looking smile as he made his way towards the silver and green table. His head was held high as his every footstep echoed off of the hard stone floor.

The other Slytherin first years were seated at the far end of the table, and the order was alphabetical. Sitting at the absolute end of the table were Bulstrode and Crabbe, sitting across from one another. To their right were Davis and Goyle. Greengrass and Malfoy were off to their right opposite each other, and beside them were Moon and Nott. Harry took the seat to the right of Lillian Moon, and the place across from him was occupied by Pansy Parkinson, who did not seem thrilled by the arrangement.

Everyone at the table was completely silent. Harry glanced around the hall and noticed that almost everyone was staring at him. Of all of the stares, there were two sets of eyes that drew his attention.

One was predictable. An intense, betrayed looking set of hazel eyes, looking for all intents and purposes as if Harry had just led their owner into a death trap. The other, Harry felt as if were burning a hole in the back of his head. He turned to meet the deep-blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore looked rather contemplative, and Harry thought he too had a rather sad look about him.

A few seconds later, Professor McGonagall continued with the sorting. Charlus's friend, Ron, rather predictably joined Harry's twin in Gryffindor, while the seat beside Harry was filled a moment later by the tall, dark skinned boy from the boat. Blaise Zabini was his name.

Harry realized that the owner of those intense, blue eyes had gotten to his feet. Albus Dumbledore was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our scrumptious banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are!

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he… a bit mad?" he asked carefully.

Zabini chuckled from beside him. "Completely," he answered shortly, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Mad hardly does it justice," drawled Malfoy as food appeared in front of them from out of nowhere. Harry had to try very hard not to gawk; he imagined that would not be taken well by many of the purebloods around him. "Father has said for years that Dumbledore is losing it. He doesn't even think he's fit to run the school, you know. But, some families still believe in him and his greatness." Malfoy looked pointedly at Harry once he had finished drawing air quotes. "Your father is quite close to Dumbledore, isn't he, Potter?"

Harry met Malfoy's eyes and tried to pour as much contempt into his stare as he could. "I wouldn't know, Malfoy. I've had very little to do with my father in my life, and I would appreciate it if you would keep his name out of our conversations."

His voice was not impolite, but it definitely came out on the cooler side. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but Harry shut him down quickly as he looked into the boy's grey eyes. He tried to convey, through his stare, how dangerous pursuing that particular bit of gossip could be. After a moment, he began piling food onto his plate. He seemed to be preparing far less food than everybody else, but after years of being starved half to death, he supposed that wasn't a surprise.

"I guess it would explain how you ended up here whilst your brother followed in your father's footsteps." Malfoy sounded like he wanted to add a lot more of his personal opinions regarding said steps, but he didn't. "Didn't have time for you, Potter? Too busy with the Boy-Who-Lived?" It wasn't quite an insult; his voice didn't carry enough intent for that. It was somewhere between teasing and a not-so-subtle jab. In any case, it was far too close to the truth for Harry's liking, and he knew he had to bite back with something or that comment would drive him mad. There was also the obvious insinuation that Harry wasn't important in the grand scheme of things. It could have been a coincidence, but if Malfoy continued that line of propaganda, it was fairly obvious he was doing his best to corrupt any foundations Harry might try and build in the house before he could even begin to do so.

It was actually rather clever.

"Something like that, yes," Harry answered flatly. "You wouldn't know much about that, would you, Malfoy? Your father has had all sorts of time with you ever since his schedule cleared up all those years ago."

The tension at the table thickened as Malfoy's eyes sharpened and his jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait. "He still keeps busy enough," Malfoy said carefully, "but he always makes time for those who matter." He met Harry's eye and there was a spark of challenge there.

Yes, definitely a calculated move to try and ruin Harry's reputation by making him out to be worthless.

"I'm sure he does," Harry said amiably. "I just hope his judgement is sound. It would be a shame if he picked the wrong friends again." Malfoy scowled. In Harry's mind, this merely meant he was conceding the point.

He felt a stare again and he assumed it would be Dumbledore's, but it wasn't. This time, the set of eyes that had been examining him belonged to a sallow-skinned man with a rather hooked nose and long sheets of greasy black hair that framed his face. His eyes were black, and Harry was reminded of dark, endless tunnels. There was something in those eyes. At first, Harry thought he recognized it as disgust or loathing; he'd seen it in the eyes of his relatives enough to recall it.

A split second later though, the look was different. It was one of surprise, though it was only there for the briefest of moments. Harry raised an eyebrow and tried to push past his eyes and glean his thoughts. To his dismay, nothing came of his efforts. He thought that maybe, witches and wizards had a sort of immunity to the ability? At least to an extent.

He glanced to the man's side, his eyes landing on a woman with light brown hair that flowed over one of her shoulders and who wore simple black robes. When Harry looked at her, he felt a sharp stab of pain right where his scar was and he winced, just managing not to cry out.

"Something bothering you, Potter?" Malfoy asked coolly.

"No," he lied, "just a headache."

He waited to make sure Malfoy was busy chatting with Nott to his right before he leaned across the table towards Parkinson, suspecting she was likely well connected enough to answer his question. "Who are those two?" he asked, subtly indicating the two teachers.

Pansy seemed to swell with pride at the question, as if knowing something Harry didn't pleased her. When she answered, she sounded surprisingly modest. "The man is Professor Snape. He's our Head of House and teaches Potions." She deflated a bit when her eyes flickered to the woman. "I don't know who she is. She must be new. Probably the Defence teacher. The position's cursed, you know?"

"Cursed?" asked Harry, peering curiously back at the witch, who seemed completely in her element now.

"Oh yes!" she said, her voice finally taking on an air of smugness and superiority. "They haven't managed to keep a professor for more than a year since the mid 1960s. Something _always_ happens to the defence professor!"

"Thank you," said Harry, to which Parkinson nodded curtly. Harry spent the majority of his meal in silence, choosing to simply evaluate his peers. After a time, desserts appeared, and Harry enjoyed some for the first time in his life. After a while, they too vanished, and Dumbledore was on his feet again, his arms spread wide as if to embrace the entire hall.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of yet another pair of twins at the Gryffindor table.

Harry wondered if twins were somehow more likely in the magical world. Seriously, this was getting ridiculous!

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the Caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"This year, Hogwarts has the pleasure of welcoming an extremely bright young woman by the name of Amelia Hurst onto its staff, as she will be taking up the honourable role of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

There was some clapping as the tall, slim woman with the light brown hair, dark-green eyes, and well-defined features briefly swept gracefully to her feet, but there were more mutters than anything else.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Pansy Parkinson's laughter could be heard over that of most, but Harry didn't laugh. His eyes narrowed upon the headmaster, and he was sure that there was more truth to Dumbledore's statement than anyone knew.

"Guess you were right, Draco," giggled Parkinson. "He really must be mad."

"No," Harry said softly, drawing almost everyone's attention to him as he narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore, "He's being serious — dead serious."

Zabini nodded slowly, but everyone else looked sceptical. "And how, pray tell, would you know that?" asked Malfoy, who, along with Nott, looked most sceptical of all.

"Just a hunch. You're welcome to go investigate if you think I'm wrong." Malfoy sneered; he clearly had no intention of doing such a thing.

"And with that cheerful note," said Dumbledore loudly, causing the chatter to die down almost at once, "I think it is time for bed!"

They all stood, but as they did so, an older student approached them. He was maybe a third or fourth year. "The halfblood is having you on, Draco," he dismissed, looking disdainfully down at Harry. "He has no idea what he's talking about. He shouldn't even be in our house, let alone trying to screw with you. You should lose the cheek, Potter. It won't get you very far in this house."

"I think I'm free to speak how I like, thank you," Despite the polite tone of voice, Harry's eyes gleamed with a fair bit of defiance. As much as Harry knew the smart thing was probably keeping his head down, he had always harboured a defiant streak, one that wanted to be shown now that he was well away from Privet Drive.

"Do you?" the other boy asked cruelly, sounding amused. "Shitty for you that the opinions of a halfblood hardly matter." the large boy took a step closer to Harry, who did not give him an inch. "You can choose your enemies better, Potter." He warned. "You don't want me as one of them. Lose your mouth."

"Back off, Macnair."

This new voice drew everyone's attention. It was soft and smooth, and it belonged to a tall girl with dirty blonde hair and enchanting, almost magnetic bluish-silver eyes. She wore a prefect badge on her chest and looked completely at ease as she addressed Macnair.

It was the girl from the train station. The one that Charlotte and her mother had been watching

"Leave the first years alone; it makes you seem as if you need an easy boost to your ego." The girl's small smile made it perfectly obviously to all present that she knew that was exactly what he needed, but she didn't need to say it.

Harry had to admire the way she had done that; so innocent on the surface, yet so cutting and filled with implications. The boy scowled but didn't say anything back. Instead, he ducked his head and walked the other way. Harry's eyebrows rose for a moment.

It was such a sudden submission.

The girl looked at all of them. "First years over there with the fifth-year prefects, Rhea and Daniel." She indicated a thin boy with very pale skin and soft, aristocratic features as well as a brunette girl who seemed to be the leader out of the two of them.

They all went to go in that direction when Harry felt a sudden weight on his shoulder and tensed, looking around to see that the girl had rested a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'd like a word with you, Potter."

Harry felt rather uncomfortable with her hand on him but didn't say anything. He just nodded and allowed her to guide him back into the antechamber in which they had entered and out a different exit. This one was hidden behind a life-sized portrait which swung easily aside when tapped with a wand. Only then, as they walked down a concealed staircase that was near pitch-black did she remove her hand from his shoulder and speak for the first time.

"You're going to need to tread rather carefully in Slytherin. Your brother doesn't exactly have a shining reputation with a lot of our house, and your blood status only worsens your case."

"I figured as much," Harry said just as they came out into a real corridor, one that was colder and seemed somehow drearier.

The dungeons, he realized.

"Treading carefully is one option," she continued, "but there are others. You will soon learn that our house is driven very much by politics. There are ways to gain respect, or if you prefer to remain low-key — protection."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, his suspicion growing by the second. This girl was at the top of the political ladder. He knew that without affirmation; Macnair's reaction had confirmed it. He couldn't quite understand why she was taking time to warn him.

She shrugged. "I don't like Macnair and his group of thugs. I would hate to see their egos inflated over brutalizing some first year."

There was definitely more to it than that.

They turned a corner a moment later and made their way down a corridor filled with a myriad of serpentine decor. Harry thought it rather simple, but rather ingenious when they didn't stop. Instead they continued through several more corridors before stopping at a stretch of wall that looked much like any other.

A clever diversion.

The wall slid aside like a muggle sliding door with a tap of her wand. They were the first to arrive in the low-ceilinged room that seemed to be lit by a dull, green light. They could see straight into the depths of what Harry assumed was the black lake.

"I never got your name," he commented as the girl made to take a seat on one of the two long couches on either side of the fire, directly in front of it.

She paused in mid-stride, turning to face him. "That's because I never gave it." Her eyes scanned over him for a moment before she held out her hand. "Grace Weitts, Heiress of the House of Weitts."

Despite the lack of the "Ancient and Most Noble" title, the Weitts family was one of the most powerful in Magical Britain. They were the co-leaders of the Neutral Faction along with the Greengrass family. Along with the Greengrasses, Blacks, Malfoys and others, they were among the richest families in Magical Britain according to estimates in _Nature's Nobility: A Guide To Wizarding Genealogy._ What made this so impressive was the fact that they had only been in Britain for a few generations at most, and no one knew where they had come from or how they had risen to prominence so quickly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Heiress Weitts. I'm Harry Potter," he said, taking her outstretched hand; her grip was rather firm, "Heir to The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."

"And you're the heir?" she remarked, a small smile sliding onto her face. "My my, Potter, you are just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Just then, the door slid open once more, and the other first years entered behind their prefects. They all made to move towards the dormitories but paused when an oily voice spoke from the shadows, making a few of them jump.

"Good evening."

Professor Snape stepped into the torchlight; his face completely impassive as he stared at each of them in turn. His eyes rested for what Harry felt like was a fraction of a second too long upon him.

"Welcome to the noble house of Salazar Slytherin." His voice came out like a hiss, barely more than a whisper. "This house has its values and traditions to uphold, and I expect each of you to do so." His eyes again rested on Harry, though they flicked away just as quickly. "One of this house's key attributes is ambition. I expect each of you to strive for greatness. I shall accept nothing less." Several of the first years shifted uncomfortably, but not Harry. "This house will grant you every asset you could possibly wish for along your journey, assuming you are not crushed under its weight," he continued. "In the end, it rests upon yourselves to carve out your own path, uphold the standards of Slytherin house and further your own legacy.

"I expect nothing but excellence in every sense of the word from each of you. Meeting my admittedly lofty expectations will be rewarded, and I shall do what I deem prudent to help you along your way as your Head of House." His eyes hardened and yet again found Harry's, though this time they stayed on him as he spoke. "Failure to fulfil your potential, and actions that I believe will lead you to such failure will result in repercussions and… disciplinary actions." He took a long, dramatic pause. "I expect nothing but the best, and I expect you all to be up to the task. Do not disappoint me."

And with that he turned, his robes billowing as if caught in a sudden breeze as he swept from the common room.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Another fairly standard chapter. Though again, necessary in furthering the plot, building the world, and such.**

**Some portions of this chapter were taken directly from **_**Harry Potter and the**_ _**Philosopher's Stone**_**. It goes without saying that I own none of the said portions, and they were simply used to add to the feel of the story. This will be happening less as the story progresses.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 8th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl, rawmeat898 and TauNeutrino.**


	4. TFA Ch 3: The Building of Foundations

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the ACI100 account on Twitter for live updates and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 3: The Building of Foundations**

* * *

_**September 2, 1991**_

_**The Slytherin Dorms**_

_**5:43 AM**_

Harry had always been an early riser. At least since he had taken up residence with the Dursleys. He had never been given much of a choice in the matter. It had been expected of him to be up and have breakfast made by the time the next member of the house had escaped the grasp of Morpheus. Needless to say, he had been conditioned to be awake quite early. So it came as no surprise to him when he woke up the next morning and tapped his wand on his wrist, muttering "Tempus" under his breath and causing the time to display in front of him in analogue form.

He had been quite tired the night before and crashed pretty much as soon as his head made contact with the plush pillow that he had been provided with. Now, contrary to the previous night, Harry felt more alert and energized than he could perhaps ever remember feeling.

As quietly as he could, Harry slid out of his bed, thanking go… Merlin that he had not had his usual nightmares. He hardly wanted to cry out in the middle of the night in front of those whom he knew to be vultures practically waiting to strike. He was sure there was a spell to ensure that no sound escaped past his curtains, but if there was, it wasn't taught in first year. He knew all of the first-year spells, and nothing even remotely like what he needed was among them.

Resigning himself to searching the library later in the day- something he had already planned on doing anyway- Harry slipped out of his bed and quickly gathered up some of his clothes before slipping off to the bathroom. Upon entering, Harry could not help but be awed at the room. It was absolutely massive, with a tiled marble floor and taps in the shape of serpent heads. The house emblem was emblazoned in emerald in the centre of the floor. Idly, Harry wondered if every bathroom in the ancient castle was anywhere close to this luxurious.

Stepping into the shower, he marvelled at the perfect water. He had read in _Hogwarts, A History, _that all of the taps within the castle adapted the temperature of the water to the desire of the shower's occupant. Or, in the case of the sinks, whoever was using it at that time. How such a thing was achieved, Harry didn't know, though he intended to one day find out. It sounded like an extremely useful enchantment to know.

Harry didn't take long to shower. Having never been given the luxury of doing so all his life, he fell easily into old habits. He was quickly back in the dormitory to grab his enchanted school bag carrying both bottomless and featherlight charms. Once it was in his possession, he swiftly made his way down into the common room. It was still lit by what he assumed was ever-present, almost ethereal looking green light coming from the lake outside.

His first instinct was to take a seat in the comfortable looking lounge area nearest the still blazing fire, but he hesitated. He thought back to the night previous when the lounge had been left completely unoccupied by everyone until his escort, Grace Weitts, entered the common room. She had claimed it along with some of her friends, one of whom had been the fifth-year prefect who had escorted the rest of Harry's year mates down into the common room.

He remembered suspecting the sway and influence that Grace had within the house. With that in mind, he could not help but assume that the lounge was reserved for those of a higher political standing within the house itself. It was likely an unwritten rule of some sort.

Having no desire to alienate himself from the rest of the house so quickly, Harry took a seat near, but not too near the fire in a large, comfortable armchair before he reached into his bag and took out his book, _The Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts. _He hadn't had the opportunity to read much if any of it on the train the day before. As of yet, he wasn't far into the book, but he found the stories of dark magic and, in particular, dark lords to be rather interesting. It was almost like a muggle fiction novel brought to life.

With the help of his unworldly memory, he'd read a great deal of the book when he heard a soft, cool voice speak from in front of him. "Eager to begin our education, are we?"

Recognizing the voice, Harry decided caution was his best vice as he peered up from his book and met those bluish-silver eyes that had so enchanted him the day before. "I've never been much of a late sleeper, if I'm being honest."

"You'll find that a habit like that will make you quite unique in this house," Grace commented as she deliberately made her way towards him, glancing at the book that now laid still open in his lap. "History, Potter? Of all the subjects you could be studying?"

"It has nothing to do with studying. You can call it a personal interest of mine. I've always been interested in history."

"Have you?" Grace asked with a small smile. "Well, I suppose that interest of yours will be tested by our most esteemed history professor."

Harry frowned. "What's wrong with the history professor?"

"Aside from the fact that he's dead," Grace said casually, causing Harry's eyes to widen for a second before he took control of the impulse once more, "he is dull to the point of being painfully so. He also doesn't pay attention to anything aside from the notes in his hand. Plenty of students sleep in his class and just read the textbook on their own time. He has never noticed any of them."

"Duly noted. I might have to look into that."

"Be careful, Potter. You shouldn't imply plans to misbehave in front of a prefect."

"I think you'll keep my secret."

"Do you? Interesting. I fail to see how you would so easily trust somebody you know so little about."

Harry just smiled pleasantly back at her. "It isn't your personality that convinces me. I'm not thick enough to convince myself I know enough about you to judge. It's your standing. You don't get to that point without having certain traits."

"Oh?" she asked, seeming truly intrigued for the first time.

"This is the house of cunning. It's not that hard to piece together that you obviously fit that trait if you're standing in the house is so high. Nobody with an ounce of cunning would want to make an enemy of an Heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House without a very good reason."

"Maybe, but what do I need of your clout and potential political power? Our families are not aligned within the same faction anyway. And I currently possess just as much clout as the Weitts Heiress as you do being the Potter Heir."

"That can change. And just because you don't need the clout doesn't mean you wouldn't be interested in it. Especially considering we're in the house of the ambitious."

Grace laughed softly, shaking her head as she peered at Harry with more interest. "It looks like we have all underestimated you, Potter. I had wondered if your choice of seat was coincidental, but now I'm sure it wasn't, was it?" Harry shook his head, to which Grace chuckled again. "You are very perceptive, and a fast learner as well. I will grant you that."

He supposed that if she was complimenting him, it was a decent enough start.

Grace took her seat in the dead centre of the lounge area, pulled a book from her own bag and began to read, prompting Harry to do the same.

It was a while later when the first few students began making their way down into the common room. Some second years were the first to arrive, followed by the large girl from Harry's year — Bulstrode. After her was the Zabini boy, who made his way over towards Harry.

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked politely, causing Harry to shake his head as Zabini took his seat. "Ah," he said after eyeing Harry's choice of reading material, "I see I won't be the only one interested in history."

"Likewise, I suppose," said Harry, still not looking up from his book and therefore failing to notice the small smirk that played across Zabini's lips.

Nott was the next in the common room, followed by Lillian Moon, a small, blonde girl who had seemed to keep mostly to herself. She was followed by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, and then the three girls, Greengrass, Davis, and Parkinson also made their way down together. Harry noticed Malfoy shoot a quick glance towards the trio of girls as he was putting away his book and catalogued that away.

"First years," came the voice of Grace's fifth-year prefect friend — Rhea, her name had been. "We'll lead you to the Great Hall this morning. From here on out, you will be expected to make it to mealtimes on your own. Are we understood?" They all nodded.

Rhea, being accompanied by Grace and a few others, led the lot of them up to the Great Hall. Harry quickly made note of the route, thanking Merlin for his near eidetic memory. He would never have had a chance of remembering this maze without it. Not on the first day, anyway.

When they entered the hall, they were some of the first to do so. They all took seats at the far end of the table once more. The spot seemed to be designated for them. This time, alphabetical order was seemingly not necessary.

Harry found himself sitting beside Blaise Zabini and across from Lillian Moon. He did notice that Malfoy, and by extension, Crabbe and Goyle took seats further up the table alongside the Macnair boy from the first night and his group of friends. They had clearly been beckoned over before making their move.

How interesting that the only way to break out of the designation appeared to be by earning the favour of older students.

It was a smooth system. Not only would it serve as a fair test of politics for the first years, but it would easily let the upper years observe and evaluate them. Harry actually smiled at the trap that was the system that had been laid out for them. Whoever had set it up Merlin only knew how long ago had played the game well.

He knew he should eat something, so he piled a measly amount of fruit onto a small plate and pulled it in front of him. He wasn't used to anywhere near three meals a day, so he was well aware of the fact that, at least in the beginning, he would need to pace himself in terms of his consumption habits.

He felt a stare burrowing into him just as the muttering in the hall rose. He was intent on ignoring it, but Zabini had other ideas.

"You have an admirer," he muttered with some amusement, causing Harry to glance over his shoulder. It was a pair of deep, hazel eyes that still watched him with a large amount of betrayal prevalent within them.

"You have a very loose definition of the word admirer, Zabini."

"When it suits my purposes," the boy answered quietly and with a smirk. Harry just shook his head exasperatedly.

He watched his brother intently. For a moment, he actually feared the Boy-Who-Lived would make a scene, but he didn't. He instead allowed Weasley to drag him to the Gryffindor table, though not before he threw a look towards Harry that could wither a plant.

"I doubt even you can honestly call him an admirer," Harry commented with even more dryness than before, which caused Blaise to chuckle.

"No," he admitted, "that would make me look a bit daft, wouldn't it?

Harry didn't answer the rhetorical question. Instead, he chose to open his book once more and continue to eat his fruit. Sometime later, their Head of House, Professor Snape, swept along and distributed timetables. When Harry's landed in front of him without a word, he quickly pulled it towards him, reading it over and committing it to memory all in one go.

'So, Snape first then,' he thought. The man had given him rather odd vibes the night before. He was interested, if a bit apprehensive, at how the man would conduct himself in his role as professor.

"I wonder if the rumours about Snape are true," Zabini mused beside Harry, as if he could read his mind, making him peer curiously at the other boy.

"What rumours?"

"Everybody seems to say he favours Slytherins. As in, very blatantly favours Slytherins."

Harry shrugged. "Good for us if it's true, I guess."

"I've heard the same," Lillian said quietly from across the table. Blaise smiled and nodded at her.

Harry stood five minutes later, packing his book and timetable into his bag as he slung it over his shoulder. It was best to reach the classroom quickly and on time. He also had no desire to meet his brother on the way. That was a confrontation that he would rather save for a later date.

Thankfully, Snape's classroom was attached to his office and was therefore labelled with his name. Even more thankfully for Harry, the door was unlocked, so he quickly slid inside and took a seat near the back. He never had trusted anyone easily. The idea of people sitting behind him was one that he was not entirely comfortable with.

Greengrass and Davis were the next two students to enter the room. They both took seats directly in front of Harry before the other students started filtering in. To Harry's amusement, almost the entirety of his year from Slytherin had entered the room before anyGryffindors not named Hermione Granger made their entrance. What may have amused him more still was that his brother and Weasley were the last two students to enter the classroom, rushing in and quickly glancing around as they did so.

They were late. Not blatantly so, but the bell had rung a minute or so earlier.

"Thank Merlin Snape isn't here," breathed out Weasley as he clutched at a stitch in his side.

"Yeah," said Charlus, smiling and seeming far less winded than his friend, "that would have been…" then he paused as his hazel eyes landed on Harry, who was sitting beside Zabini.

Charlus' face went through several stages of both colour and expression before he began to march towards Harry. For his part, Harry's face never changed as he continued to gaze upon his brother with perfect neutrality.

"Harry," said Charlus, and his voice carried the obvious note of betrayal, "why… Slytherin… why?"

"You can thank Father next time you see him for that," Harry said with no real emotion. After sorting out his feelings on the matter, he had decided that his more "Slytherin traits" had likely manifested as a direct result of necessity while living under the roof of the Dursleys.

Charlus' face suddenly took on a red tinge. "You're blaming dad?" he asked incredulously. Harry merely stared back in return. Charlus shook his head, looking disgusted. "Maybe you do belong in Slytherin," he said with some distaste, making the sentence sound as if it were the worst insult he could possibly come up with. "Blaming dad for stuff like that would be about right."

"If he didn't abandon me," Harry said in a voice quiet enough not to carry to the rest of the class, "I wouldn't have to say it at all."

"How could you say that?" Charlus hissed, looking furious now. "He-he regrets it so much… more than anything." Charlus shook his head again. "When-when he finds out you're in Slytherin... He'll blame himself; he'll feel awful."

Harry didn't dignify his brother's response with words. He just raised an eyebrow, as if asking what Charlus's point was.

"You really do belong in Slytherin!" His brother's words had more heat and conviction this time around. "You don't accept responsibility for anything, do you?"

"And you really do belong in Gryffindor," Harry bit back evenly. "All impulsiveness and no critical thinking. You just see the world exactly how you want it to be."

Vaguely, Harry noted the hypocrisy of that fact. Charlus was in the house that prided itself on acceptance, yet he couldn't accept Harry's sorting… but Harry decided not to ponder on that for too long.

Many of the Slytherins hid smirks, snickers, or other humorous reactions. Crabbe and Goyle both just guffawed openly. The Gryffindors all looked offended to varying degrees, but none of them had time to say anything before the classroom door slammed open, and Slytherin's Head of House swept into the classroom. His cloak billowed behind him in a bat-like manner as he stopped in mid-stride, casting a contemptuous glare towards Charlus.

"Three points from Gryffindor for deplorable behaviour, Potter. I would expect any civilized child with even an ounce of dignity to await the beginning of class in their seats. Not to accost other students before the bell has even sounded. Then again," he added with an almost cruel smile, "I suppose the unfortunate traits I have mentioned can be expected from one in your… situation."

"Are you insulting my father?" bit out Charlus.

Snape sneered. "I would never dare," he said with a curled lip. "An insult is to bring to light a person's more disposable qualities." Snape allowed his lip to curl even further. "I assure you, I speak of the least deplorable qualities that manifested inside of your father's over-inflated head.

"Now," he snapped before Charlus could say another word, "sit down." Charlus did so, but he was shaking with rage as he glared openly at their professor. "I hope that the rest of you have not modelled yourself too closely after our new… celebrity."

Most of the Slytherins snickered once more before falling truly silent for the first time.

Snape allowed his eyes to roam over each of them. They paused for a nearly imperceptible amount of time too long on both Harry and Charlus, something that caused Harry's eyes to narrow.

So, last night definitely hadn't been a coincidence, then.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Their professor spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word— Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I do not expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death... if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry saw Charlus and Ron exchange looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

Snape then took out his attendance and began to read the names, pausing when he came to that of Charlus. "Two Potters," he drawled, "I dare say Hogwarts has never seen such dark times as are undoubtedly on the horizon." Snape smirked cruelly as much of Slytherin snickered for a third time.

Harry silently cursed his father once more. He had no idea what the man had done to his Head of House. If Snape, who was apparently notorious for his blatant favouritism towards Slytherins, was mocking a member of his own house openly, it must have been bad.

"I am, however, most curious how two children of similar stock could possibly end up on the opposite ends of a most telling spectrum. I think we have in front of us an excellent opportunity to test the theory of nature versus nurture."

The class remained perfectly silent.

"Potter," the professor snapped suddenly, frowning when both Harry and Charlus turned towards him with two completely different visages. "Gryffindor Potter," he elaborated. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Charlus looked stumped, but Hermione Granger's hand shot quickly into the air, something that caused Harry to frown. He'd read that one should only raise their hand if they had a question or if the teacher had posed one to the class. To do so when another student was asked a direct question, especially when said student was a pureblood, was considered very disrespectful. It implied that you didn't think the student capable of answering.

"I'd look in your potions cabinet," Charlus answered dryly. Much of Gryffindor laughed and for Snape's lip to curl.

"Two points for your cheek, Potter." Charlus glared at Snape and looked as if he would say something, but he was never given the chance. "Let us try a question that falls in a similar vein but one that cannot be deflected with such a poor attempt at humour. What, Potter, is a bezoar?"

Granger's hand rose again, but Charlus seemed intent on continuing to dig himself a hole. "No idea. Definitely not a hair care product. You clearly don't own any of those."

The class went dead silent.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for blatant disrespect of your superiors," Snape said softly. "And I believe a detention this Saturday would be most… elucidating for you. Perhaps then, you may even be able to recognize them."

"I know who my superiors are." Clearly, Charlus had no idea when to stop. "You're not one of them."

"And one on Sunday as well, just to ensure the message... sinks in." Snape's voice was tinged with venom as he turned his icy glare towards Harry. "Now, let us see if your brother is as pathetic a representation of an ancient and noble bloodline as yourself. Slytherin Potter, answer me the same questions your terrifically incompetent twin failed to answer."

"Of course, Professor," Harry said with well-practiced politeness, taking the time to smirk at his brother for his, as Snape put it, incompetence. "A bezoar is a stone formed from the bodily fluids of a goat that can cure most poisons. To find it, you would look in the goat's stomach." He looked at the Gryffindors on the opposite side of the room who, in many cases, were either glaring openly at him or looking stunned. "It was on the first page of chapter two," he added helpfully, doing his utmost best to add insult to his brother's injury.

Snape's face remained impassive. "Correct on both counts." He whirled back towards the Gryffindor side of the room. "Incompetent Potter," he snapped, causing Charlus to flush in anger, "what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

"No idea." gritted out Charlus. "Maybe one goes in your morning tea to make sure you stay a complete wanker and the other goes in your hair to keep it nice and greasy."

Harry immediately realized that Charlus had finally gone a step too far as Snape scowled. "I think, Incompetent Potter, that we shall take a stroll up to the Headmaster's office come the conclusion of this class."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Snape's lip curled again. "I am afraid I never granted you a choice in the matter." Harry could have sworn he heard Charlus mutter "we'll see" under his breath, but he couldn't be sure.

Predictably Snape whirled to face him once more. "Potentially Competent Potter," he addressed, almost causing Harry to snort, "can you enlighten your brother as to the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

Harry smiled. "I don't think I can, sir. A better question would be if I could enlighten my brother on the lack of differences between the two."

"Explain!"

"Monkshood and Wolfsbane are the exact same plant; a poisonous variety known as aconite."

Snape nodded curtly. "I see one of the two Potters has progressed admirably far into his copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Even _if in the case of his brother, books seem as if they are a foreign concept.

"Your task is to brew an acceptable potion to cure boils, working with the person sitting next to you. I expect a flask of the finished product on my desk by the end of the lesson." He waved his wand towards the board. "The instructions are written on the board."

"Unless you have a better idea, I'll go and get the ingredients while you set up the cauldron," Harry proposed.

Zabini nodded from beside him. "That sounds acceptable."

By the time he got back, Zabini had the cauldron set up, and it was boiling very close to the correct temperature.

"Any idea how good you are with potions?"

"Above average," Zabini assured, causing Harry to internally thank Merlin for his luck.

"I'll prepare all of the ingredients if you add them and tend to the cauldron."

Zabini shrugged. "Sounds like a fair exchange to me."

They worked in companionable silence for much of the class, with Harry taking great care with their supply of ingredients and Zabini managing to follow Snape's instructions without issue. Nothing of real note happened until about halfway through the class.

An explosion shook the dungeon and within seconds of looking up, most of the class were on their chairs in order to avoid the liquid that was spilling all over the floor. It was very clearly pouring from Longbottom's and Finnigan's melted cauldron. The concoction seemed to be incapable of removing boils, though it seemed to be giving Longbottom some pretty nasty ones.

Snape rounded on the boys and as discreetly as Harry could, he began carefully filtering the mess of a potion off the floor and into several vials. The only person who seemed to notice was Zabini, who looked almost appreciative. As odd as the thought was, Harry suspected a potion that looked rather painful and could be absorbed through the skin could prove rather useful in the future, even if it were completely useless for curing boils.

"Idiot boy! I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off of the fire?" Snape scowled at the pair of them and addressed Finnigan next. "Take him to the hospital wing." He waved his wand, causing the rest of the potion to vanish and prompting Harry to stand up, pocketing the two vials he had managed to procure with a satisfied smile whilst Snape glared daggers at Charlus and Weasley. "Incompetent Potter," he spat, "why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he would make you look good if he ruined his potion, did you? That will be yet another five points from Gryffindor."

Harry saw Charlus make to speak up, but he didn't. Clearly, Weasley had enough sense to keep his twin quiet. Harry knew such a thing was blatantly unfair, but he couldn't find it within himself to care much for the situation.

The next event took place not five minutes later when Greengrass marched confidently up to the front of the class and presented Snape a vial of clearly perfect potion with a third of the allotted time remaining. A rather smug looking grin was plastered on her face.

"How the hell?" Harry muttered under his breath, a sentiment that Zabini quietly agreed to with a nod.

By the time class had ended, Harry and Zabini were one of a few groups to hand in what seemed like perfect potions, something that would have made Harry a lot happier if Greengrass hadn't done the same thing twenty minutes earlier than them. He could almost feel her superior smirk directed at their backs as Harry handed in their potion to Snape, who took it with a blank expression. Harry felt as if the Potions Master was straining every muscle in his face in order to suppress Merlin only knew what expression.

The bell rang soon after and Harry and the other Slytherins made their way out of the dungeons and began on their ascent up to the charms' corridor for their first lesson in the subject for the year. As he left the dungeons classroom, Harry did not fail to notice that neither his brother nor Ron Weasley were present. He silently commended his twin for somehow managing to slip past Snape, even if he did so begrudgingly.

Harry had no idea how to get to the Charms Classroom, but he thought following the rest of the crowd was a fairly safe bet. If worse came to worst, he doubted their charms professor would dock points from the entire class for being late. It turned out that most of them were late, as it was a rather long trek from Potions to Charms. Harry suspected those without near eidetic memories may end up late for the first couple of Mondays.

His other assumption also held true though, as Professor Flitwick, a diminutive man who needed to stand on several books just to see over his desk, took the whole event in good spirits.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to your first Charms lesson here at Hogwarts! My name is Professor Flitwick and I am the Charms professor and Head of Ravenclaw house!" After his introduction, Flitwick took roll, pausing almost curiously at Harry's name before putting down the attendance and looking at them all far more seriously.

"To put it simply, Charms very well may be the most important subject we teach at this school and I assure you, my own biases towards the subject have no impact on that statement. Charms is, in my humble opinion, the most versatile branch of magic, as Charms can be used to achieve almost anything a witch or wizard would like. The subject has applications in self-defence, household upkeep, day to day tasks, leisure activities, and almost anything else you could come up with.

"Charms is also one of the five foundational branches of magic. Can anybody tell me the other four?"

Harry's hand hit the air first, and Flitwick pointed to him eagerly. "Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Potions, and Transfiguration."

"Very good, Master Potter, very good indeed. Take three points to Slytherin. Now, can anyone tell me why these five branches of magic are called foundational?"

Harry's hand hit the air first once more. To her credit, Greengrass was not far behind him. Flitwick pointed to her this time, and Greengrass recited without preamble: "They're called foundational branches because one of, or a combination of the branches is needed to perform any task using magic."

Flitwick's smile only grew. "Correct, Miss Greengrass! Take five points for Slytherin on top of the three from a moment ago. Yes," he continued, "needless to explain anymore, Charms is extremely important, and it is a subject I thoroughly encourage each and every one of you to continue after fifth year if you have earned the opportunity by scoring well on your O.W.L.s. Speaking of which, the expectations in this class…"

And the lesson continued.

No practical magic was performed that day aside from Flitwick making objects fly around the room as a demonstration of what was to come. The lesson was spent entirely as a lecture, both for expectations, future lessons, a yearly outline, and a bit on the correct grip on one's wand for Charms and some other safety measures. What was equally unfortunate was the fact that Flitwick became the second of two professors to assign them prep, his being six inches on safety measures in his class.

Harry had already come to the conclusion that the year would be a rather easy one, at least in that subject. He could already perform the Levitation Charm with no issue at all. The same went for the Colour Changing Charm and a fair few others. He suspected he had already reached Christmas break, if not further in terms of the practical portion of the curriculum, and the entirety of first year in terms of theory. Absently, he wondered just how far ahead he could actually get.

They had lunch next, and though Harry definitely ate more than he had at breakfast, he spent most of that time with his nose in the potions book. He was trying to find what Greengrass possibly could have done differently, but his search came up empty. Harry's mood had dimmed considerably by the end of lunch. For the first time in the magical world, his research had been fruitless.

His low spirits didn't last long, as now, he was walking into the class that he may have been most excited about — Defence Against the Dark Arts, and a double period at that. Nothing was known about the professor, but Harry was eager for the subject and he really did hope she was competent.

Competent she was indeed.

When they entered the room, Professor Hurst was sitting behind her desk, reading from a book that did not seem to have a cover. She glanced up briefly, smiling quickly at them before going back to her book. A quick glance around the classroom didn't reveal a whole lot about the woman at all, as the room had been left almost completely barren. Harry suspected that if she had gone to Hogwarts in her time, she had been a Slytherin.

When they had all entered and the bell had rung, the professor got to her feet, and Harry saw none of the shyness that some may expect from a new professor.

"Welcome," she said in a smooth, confident voice, a small, almost twisted smile adorning her lips, "to Defence Against the Dark Arts." The loving tone in which she spoke the name of her subject took Harry aback, but the obvious charisma the woman carried caught his attention immediately.

"I have little doubt that professors Snape and Flitwick have already lectured you as to the importance of their subject but let me ask you this. What is more important to you; speeding up household tasks that could be performed easily, if admittedly tediously without a wand? Brewing potions that could admittedly be quite useful? Or making sure that no matter the situation, you are prepared? Making sure that you are both powerful and competent enough to ensure your safety within the magical world?" Several people were nodding along with the woman, and Harry found himself chief amongst them.

The way the professor spoke… it was as if she were drawing them all in, placing them in a kind of trance.

"To defend against the Dark Arts," Hurst continued, "one must understand the scope of which they are fighting." Her lips twitched again, but she did not elucidate as to why. "The Dark Arts are a monstrous branch of magic themselves. They are ever-changing, ever-evolving, and endless in their applications and possibilities in the hands of a sorcerer who has mastered their mind, their magic, and their intent. It is like fighting a battalion of warriors who are all prodigies in their fields, but without knowing which fields they all specialize in.

"That is to say, your defence must be flexible, ever-evolving as the Arts in which they are to defend you from, and if you can make them so, creative and multi-purposed. In my eyes, a spell's power is not necessarily measured by the damage it can cause, or the solidity of the protection it offers as much as it is measured by how many ways the spell can cause damage, or how many ways the spell can protect you."

Harry was enraptured now. Everything Hurst said resonated with him and he found his anticipation for the class growing by the second.

"I will not be teaching you the complexities of the Dark Arts." Harry swore he could detect an undertone of regret, perhaps even an apologetic note in her voice. "The Ministry is rather strict on their guidelines for one thing, and for another, with all due respect, none of you in this room would be capable of wielding the most dangerous weapons magic has to offer. In a similar vein, I will not be teaching you the subtle, more complex, or even more powerful ways in which to defend yourself against these weapons. In order for a wall to stand strong and impenetrable, the wall must be built on foundations which are as near infallible as one can make them."

She smiled proudly out at all of them. "What I shall be doing my best to accomplish this year is helping you lay the foundations to what I hope will one day become a structure that will hold against even the darkest of arts and the blackest of magics.

"Now, most professors would simply have you discuss the safety measures to be taken in this class. Quite frankly, if you are not all well aware of the dangers of such a class and don't possess the common sense to keep yourself and those around you safe, failing in this subject will be the least of your worries."

With that message out of the way, she smiled at them. "Now, let us begin with something rather simple. The most rudimentary, yet still a rather useful shield charm. I will require a volunteer." No one's hand rose and her dark eyes scanned the crowd before resting on Harry. "Master Potter, would you be so kind?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry said automatically as he scrambled to his feet, looking nervous.

She smiled reassuringly at him in a way that put him immediately at ease. That statement was odd, for he was a rather paranoid person, but he didn't have time to ponder on the fact. "There's no need to worry," she said quietly as the rest muttered, speaking softly enough so only he could hear her. "You will be attacking me. Assuming, of course, that you know of a spell to attack with?"

"Nothing at all powerful or useful, but I know a few jinxes."

"They will more than suffice for our demonstration," she assured him, raising her hand and causing the class to quiet as she drew her wand from her sleeve and stood to face Harry. Harry quickly summoned his from his holster, causing one of her eyebrows to raise for the merest of moments before she nodded for him to attack.

"Mobiliarbus," he said, firing what he hoped would be the leg locker at her without hesitation. It worked; the jet of blue light shot straight towards her.

"Aegis Vocar," she intoned calmly and without a wand movement, causing a nearly imperceptible shimmer in the air to absorb Harry's curse. "Continue," she instructed as she moved to the side.

"Rictusempra, Furnunculus, Flipendo." His wand stayed trained on her as she moved to the side, but without bothering to incant another spell, she just allowed his spells to slam harmlessly into her shield. Harry raised his wand to attack again but never had the chance. He saw her wand give a nearly unnoticeable twitch and he suddenly felt as if the very air had grabbed him. He was forcefully jerked off his feet and hung upside down. He tried to move his arms, but he couldn't. He felt as if they were tied to his sides.

The class was completely silent as Professor Hurst strode casually up to where he was hanging upside down, his head about level with her chest. She reached out her hand, deftly plucking Harry's wand from his limp fingers. She rolled up his sleeve as well and made a show of miming the disarming of his holster.

"That," she said casually to the rest of the class, "is the difference defence can make in a fight. Master Potter, despite the fairly impressive spell work he displayed, never stood a chance without a proper defence." She twitched her wand again and Harry felt himself flip in the air as his feet touched down on the floor. He took a moment to orient himself before reaching out and taking back his wand when his professor offered it.

"The Aegis Vocar shield is the weakest of the magical shield charms, though it will hold against a few jinxes depending on the power that you are able to put behind it. In a fight, it is next to useless. In a duel, its low energy costs and unique ability to move with the caster could be of use.

"For this class, it is a spell that will protect you from those of your age and it will serve as an apt introduction to defensive magic. The spell is basic, though I do not expect many of you to have managed this spell by the end of class today. If two of you can cast it, you will pair up and test your shield against the other's jinxes. The incantation, as you heard, is Aegis Vocar. The wand movement is a circular motion in front of your chest." When they all looked up at her a bit nervously, she snapped her fingers. "Begin."

Before she could stride away from him, Harry shot her a questioning glance and she nodded to show she was listening. "You didn't use a wand movement."

She smiled. "You are quite observant. For such a basic spell in comparison to my skill level, wand movements are wasteful and unnecessary. They are a crutch, if you will, a method to aid in casting. They are not strictly necessary." He nodded. "Seeing as I am here already, let me see your attempt before I observe the others."

Harry raised his wand and traced it in the circular motion a few times before committing to it.

"Aegis Vocar."

There was the same shimmer as the professor had created, though it was even less noticeable than her own.

She looked surprised. "That is your first ever attempt with the charm, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She nodded approvingly. "Five points to Slytherin." She prodded his near-invisible shield with the tip of her wand. "It is weak, but for you to produce a shield at all on your first try is impressive for certain. Continue your attempts and I will circulate the room and inevitably return to you."

And continue he did.

Harry only took a few brief moments to glance around the class as he attempted to strengthen his shield. From what he was seeing, nobody else had yet managed one. After quite some time, the professor was in front of him once more, and when he cast the spell, she poked at the barrier with her wand several times again before giving it a firm jab and causing it to collapse. She pursed her lips and before Harry knew what was happening, her wand had snapped deliberately towards his face.

"Dolor," she incanted. Harry recognized it as the incantation for the Stinging Hex.

"Aegis Vocar!" he snarled with conviction. The air shimmered more noticeably now, and her spell sparked harmlessly against his shield.

"Remember that," she told him sharply. "Remember the desire to not get hit with that jinx, the desire to stay safe, the intent to defend yourself. Cast with that intent every time whether I am casting at you or not and your shield will strengthen and hold. Fail to do so, and your shield will crumble."

He nodded thankfully and she made off to help the others again. It was a blunt way to learn and it had scared the hell out of him, but it had been effective. That was all he could really ask from a professor.

By the time the class had ended, the only other person who had managed anything was Theodore Nott.

Harry left the class in high spirits, feeling joy at the success of the lesson as well as the potential that the class held if Professor Hurst's words were anything to judge by.

* * *

**Authors Endnote:**

**A couple of things to go over quickly.**

**The first is that I was criticized by a guest reviewer for choosing "Liberals" and Conservatives" as the names of the two opposing political factions. It should be noted that this choice is based completely off of the English definitions of these words. I could not care less about real-world politics, so it had no impact on the story.**

**Also, I have been told that the name Amelia Hurst is used in another fic titled **_**Power is Control.**_ **At the time of writing this, I had honestly never heard of, let alone read the story. No infringement was intended. She was one of about sixty names I have in notes as potentially being usable in the future. She was actually going to be an Unspeakable in a fic that I scrapped before ever posting.**

**I have also had it pointed out to me that in English boarding schools, many of the professors refer to the male students as "Master" as opposed to "Mister". This was intentional on my part. No mistakes were made. I am simply trying to write at least a semi-realistic depiction of the culture the story is taking place in. For this same reason, as I am now going through and revising these chapters, I will slowly be changing all instances of "homework" to "prep".**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 8th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	5. TFA Ch 4: Jostling For Position

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 4: Jostling for Position**

* * *

_**September 2, 1991**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**6:07 PM**_

It had taken Harry a surprisingly short period of time to find the library after their first Defence lesson of the year with Professor Hurst. True, he had not yet located a spell that could be used to stop his cries at night from reaching the ears of the other students, but progress was progress at the end of the day. He planned on returning to the library after dinner to hopefully remedy that inconvenience.

When he entered the hall and made his way towards the Slytherin table, the only Slytherin first years present were Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Greengrass and Davis. The first three were sitting with the same contingent of older students that Harry had spotted them with earlier that day. With some trepidation, he made his way towards the first year's section of the table and made to take a seat near the end. Unfortunately for his plans, Davis began to gesture for Harry to sit with the three girls and he sighed internally. Not wishing to come across as rude, he had little choice but to oblige her.

"Where have you been since class?" asked Tracey curiously. "Everyone else was in the common room working on prep."

"The library," he answered honestly, reaching for conservative amounts of both steak and potatoes to pile onto his plate.

"Don't tell me you're studying already?" asked Tracey. "It's the first day!"

He shrugged. "Better ahead than behind," he justified, pulling his plate towards him.

"Yeah," sighed Davis with a roll of her eyes as her two friends continued to merely observe, "because you're definitely not ahead already or anything."

He smiled indulgently at her. "I have to keep the same attitude if I want to stay as far ahead as I am right now. Besides," he added in an attempt to divert the conversation off of this topic of discussion, "Snape nearly caught me out today in Potions."

"How did you know all of that?" asked Parkinson, looking as if she were speaking to him grudgingly at best.

"I just read ahead. I'm interested in the subject and I have a fairly good memory."

"That was a fairly impressive showing," admitted Greengrass with what sounded like genuine respect.

He inclined his head to her. "Not as impressive as your brew though. I have to admit, I have no idea how you pulled it off."

"Daphne is a genius with potions!" Davis gushed. "She could probably brew all of the N.E.W.T ones already!"

"Snape really seems to dislike you," Greengrass put in casually. Harry recognized the probe.

"More my brother, I think," he answered thoughtfully. "He seemed to warm up to me a bit as the class went on, mainly because I just kept my head down and answered his questions. My dear brother did himself no favours though."

"I hope Dumbledore gave him detention for the year," Parkinson interjected a bit snottily. "He should know better than to disrespect our Head of House like that."

"I think he probably does in general, but Snape seems to be an exception," noted Harry.

"You don't seem as bothered as your brother," Greengrass commented, something that made Harry shrug.

"I don't make snap judgement calls. I'll work out what I think of Snape for myself."

Tracey just looked bemused. "I hope none of the professors give us any more prep tomorrow."

"It's the first day; how are you complaining already?" Daphne asked with a roll of her eyes.

"Because we have so much prep!" Tracey moaned dramatically. Parkinson, who looked as if she had no real interest in acknowledging Tracey, nodded grudgingly.

"What do we have tomorrow, anyway?"

"Herbology, History and a Transfiguration double in that order," said Harry. "They're broken up by spares and meals and the like."

The girls all looked rather surprised at his answer. "How can you possibly know that without looking at your timetable?" Parkinson scoffed, sounding rather skeptical.

Harry just smiled a bit sheepishly at the girl. "I told you already, I have a good memory. If you don't trust it, you're welcome to check for yourself."

It seemed as if Daphne was doing just that, and her eyebrows rose as she looked down at her own timetable.

"He's right," she confirmed, shooting him a rather calculating look. "When you say you have a 'good memory', how good are we talking about?"

"Good enough," Harry answered easily, avoiding the question with little effort. He was sure Greengrass was well aware of the tactic, though if it bothered her, she did not show it.

"Well," said Harry, having finished his rather small portion of food after a few more minutes, "have a good night." He inclined his head to the four students as he stood and left the hall for the library once more, his bag slung over his shoulder as he went.

He spent a couple more hours in the library looking for a silencing spell, but couldn't find it. Frankly, there were just too many books in the library for him to locate such a specific spell. It was nearly curfew as he flipped furiously through the final pages of a Charms book, cursing rather colourfully under his breath when he came to its conclusion without finding what he was looking for.

"Language, Master Potter. I would hate to deduct points from somebody who appears to be an early favourite to become my star student."

Harry jumped at the calm, cool voice from directly behind him, allowing the book to close with a rather loud snap that drew the attention of the librarian, Madam Pince, as he turned to find Professor Hurst looking down at him with a rather amused expression on her face.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said with as much fake sincerity as he could manage. "I won't do it again."

She merely smiled knowingly at him. "Certainly not when I'm in your vicinity, at least." her face became more serious. "What has you so riled up?"

He hesitated. He didn't really want to share the information, as he dreaded the questions that would follow such an admission.

She could probably speed things up quite a bit though.

He sighed, giving in to practicality and curiosity as he looked up at her questioningly. "I can't seem to find a spell. I'm sure something like what I'm looking for exists, but without knowing anything about it, it's been nearly impossible to find."

Slowly, Professor Hurst appraised him, seeming to be mildly surprised by Harry's explanation. "If it is a simple desire, a method of completing it likely does exist, yes." She waited for a moment, but when Harry didn't speak, she cut in once more. "Well? If you would like me to aid you in your endeavour, it might help if you tell me what you're looking for?"

Harry blinked bemusedly. He wasn't accustomed to anybody actually helping him, let alone taking the initiative to do so. The impulse to ask the professor for help had never even materialized.

"_Don't ask questions!" _he could remember Petunia snapping at him on numerous occasions throughout his childhood. He thought that he might need to start working towards breaking that habit.

"Um… I'm looking for some sort of spell to stop sound from travelling outside of a certain area. So, something I could use on a wall, or divider, or something like them to make sure that sound doesn't travel to the other side?"

The professor nodded. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? The spell you would be looking for would be the Silencing Charm. It can be cast on an object to silence the object itself, but it can also be used in the way you have described it; though it takes a fair bit of power and prowess to pull it off in that manner."

She thought for a moment, seeming to be debating something internally before a few seconds later, she seemed to come to her decision.

"There is a little known spell that is more suited to your desire and quite frankly, it takes little to no prowess to cast." The professor's sharp eyes flitted quickly around the room. "I shall teach it to you, but I would strongly recommend you keep it to yourself. As I said, it is little known and if word gets back to… certain individuals that you're using it, it could spark some rather problematic questions."

Vaguely, Harry wondered why such a simple spell could cause "problematic questions" but he didn't bother to ask. "I'll keep it to myself," he assured the Professor.

She peered at him critically for a moment before nodding. She withdrew her wand and Harry felt — something rush outward from it. It was as if something heavy and oppressive was spreading around them, emanating from the tip of the Defence Professor's wand. "The incantation is Muffliato," she enlightened, sounding it out clearly and precisely. "The wand movement is a quick twist of one's wand and outward flick like so." She demonstrated the wand movement before waving her wand and causing whatever force that seemed to surround them to noticeably recede. "Try it. It's a simple spell; no real focus nor intent is required."

Harry did so, slowly and deliberately repeating her earlier actions.

It worked.

The magic, at least he assumed it was magic, that spread from his wand seemed mildly lighter, less potent perhaps than that which she had created, but it had worked.

"That will be more than sufficient," she told him, nodding with mild approval. "Now, if that is all, I recommend that you return to your common room. Curfew is fast approaching, and I would hate to have such a gifted student in detention so early on in the school year."

"Yes, ma'am, and… thank you," he said, finding it odd, if not difficult to thank somebody out of genuine gratitude as opposed to an obligation.

She gave him a small, thin smile before raising a hand to pause his retreat.

"Remember, Master Potter, that within this world, curiosity is not a sin but a gift. If it is managed carefully and honed correctly, nothing but positive outcomes will stem from such curiosity. Have a good night."

With that parting message, the pair of them left the library, moving in different directions. Harry did his utmost best to digest the words of his professor, feeling as if there was a larger, maybe even a much larger message that he had missed within those eloquent words.

* * *

Harry just barely made it back to the Slytherin common room before curfew. As he stepped inside, he allowed a relieved smile to spread across his face. That smile lasted for a mere few seconds before he quickly noticed a palpable tension within the common room that could not be missed. Accompanied by that sense of tension, at least in the case of Harry, was a sense of danger. He just knew something was wrong. As his intense, green eyes scanned the common room at large, he quickly located the source of the tension.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

Sitting in the lounge area he had noticed previously was not Weitts and her entourage. A very large, athletic-looking boy with sharp features and dark eyes sat in the dead centre of the lounge as if it were a throne. Only one of his friends was clearly willing to partake in this endeavour alongside him. His friend was a tall, lean, athletic-looking boy who was rather unassuming in appearance.

Nobody spoke on the seating arrangement, and to most of the house's credit, they continued performing their normal activities as if nothing were happening at all. In spite of the play at normality, it was blatantly clear that everyone in the room was on edge. It didn't appear that Weitts, nor her group of friends were in the common room. Curfew drew ever nearer by the second, so Harry thought it unlikely that would be the case for a whole lot longer.

Harry's eyes roamed over the crowd once more, searching out his fellow first years.

Malfoy was sitting with the same group of older students Harry had seen him with twice that day, plus Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore Nott. They were making quiet conversation, though Harry noticed Draco's eyes flickering towards the lounge area every few minutes. In a far corner of the room, he spotted Greengrass and Davis, both quietly doing their prep. Greengrass did not make her observations quite as obvious as the Malfoy heir, though Harry would bet every galleon he was entitled to via his heir status that she had every sense tuned into the situation.

He didn't quite have a read on Daphne Greengrass as of yet, but one thing that he knew about her beyond doubt was that she was undeniably sharp. Parkinson and Zabini were sitting in silence, also seeming to be working on their prep. Zabini managed to look completely indifferent, though Parkinson managed nothing even remotely close to that feat.

Harry's eyes landed on the empty seat beside Zabini. As quickly and quietly as he could, Harry swept towards them and gracefully lowered himself into the seat. Zabini glanced up, giving Harry a near unreadable look that Harry managed to distinguish as a silent inquisition. He got the message just fine. Zabini was trying to gauge whether or not he understood what was going on. In response, Harry allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he subtly jerked his head towards the lounge. Zabini looked surprised for only a moment before returning to his work. Parkinson, who was fixated on the lounge in the centre, missed the entire exchange.

The tension in the room only built as time progressed. Just as Harry thought it couldn't continue any longer and that somebody would surely disrupt it, the wall separating the common room from the outside corridor slid aside. Admitting Grace and several of her friends, including Rhea Pax. Grace was speaking as they entered the common room, but her friends seemed to lose focus as they became aware of the atmosphere they were entering. To Pax's credit, she regained it within a second, but Harry was most impressed with Grace herself.

The girl didn't so much as stutter in her monologue, nor did she break stride as she casually strolled towards the lounge. The tension in the room rose to a fever pitch until finally, Grace came to a stop in front of the boys, who were now both doing their best to act as if they were absorbed in their books. Harry was a bit taken aback when Grace didn't call them on it outright. She instead cleared her throat in what sounded like a perfectly polite, even amiable tone.

"Excuse me, Flint, Higgs, but I believe you're sitting in our seats."

Harry really didn't think the atmosphere in the room could increase in electricity any more than it already had, but at that moment, he found himself proven wrong as all at once, the room seemed to hold its collective breath.

The boy in the dead centre — Flint, Harry assumed, as Grace had addressed him first, slowly, and deliberately closed his book with an unnecessarily loud snap and looked up at Weitts. For those close enough to see Flint's face, there was clear defiance evident in his dark, narrow eyes.

"With all due respect, Weitts, I think seats are open to anybody. I don't see what gives you the right to a particular place in the common room." It was obviously that he was trying to sound casual, but he was only partially succeeding.

Harry swore he saw Grace's lips twitch, but it happened so fast that he couldn't be sure.

"Don't be melodramatic, Marcus," Weitts chided him. "If you're so unwilling to move, I think both of us know exactly what that means." Her face stayed completely neutral, but Harry, as was the case with most in the room, had no problem at all identifying the undertone of challenge in Weitts's voice.

There was a second pause before Flint's face split into a rather easy smile as he gestured for his friend to join him as he stood.

"No, not at all. I was just confused about the arrangement. No harm done; you can have the seat if it means that much to you."

Flint and Higgs strode off casually. Flint even went as far as to incline his head to Weitts and her entourage. Grace's friends all took their seats, though Rhea seemed to look to Grace before doing so. Grace stepped towards the sofa, but Harry knew she had no intention of sitting as he realized exactly what was about to happen a split second before it did.

"Lacero!"

"Tormensia!"

Grace whirled around with enough speed that Harry would have sworn she had slowed down time. She seemed to pirouette around like a ballerina, her wand already drawn as she faced the two spells flying her way, one fired from Higgs, the latter from Flint. As fast as she had turned, Harry was sure it wouldn't be fast enough. The first spell, fired off by Higgs, was inches away from her chest, whereas the second, fired off by Flint, was a bit off to her right and a bit behind its predecessor.

If Grace didn't move in time, something Harry viewed as an inevitability, she would be struck with the first curse. If she stepped to the right, she would be struck with the second. Her left was impeded by the sofa, on which her entourage sat.

Grace took neither option.

Her arm moved so fast it was nearly blurred as she brought her wand up in front of her chest at the last possible second. Right as the first spell was about to impact her, it was sent off course, as if she had swatted the blast of magic away with her wand. If that was not impressive enough, the spell's new path had it on a quick collision course with its counterpart. When the two spells met, there was a sound like a firecracker and a bright flash of red light as the spells both sparked out. Grace's wand snapped up, and without uttering a word, she quickly took advantage of the stunned state she had befallen on her two opponents.

A contingent of ravens flowed like quicksilver from the tip of her wand and soared towards the two boys. As they neared their prey, a subtle twitch of Grace's wand had transformed them. Now, they appeared to be more solid, as if made of metal. Their beaks and talons seemed unnaturally sharp and seemed to shine in the dim light of the common room.

"Protego!" cried Higgs as Flint simply dove for cover. The birds collided with his shield, disappearing in a haze of smoke. Flint took advantage of this distraction, popping up to the side and taking aim at Weitts.

"Somnum Exterreri!"

The near-black spell hurtled towards Weitts, who turned at the last second, wide-eyed, and took the curse straight in the face. The crowd of onlookers gasped. She fell to the floor and began to twitch, and Flint's face broke into a manic grin for a whole three seconds before he seemed to realize something was wrong. The twitching girl gave no verbal reaction.

"Ausüben Caeli!"

There was a momentary blur around Flint. Then, as if the very air had grabbed him, he was jerked violently off his feet. He thrashed wildly against his invisible restraints, but it was to no avail. A second later, he was tossed through the air as if he were an action figure discarded carelessly by a child. He slammed hard into the wall, slumping to the floor, where he rolled feebly, curling into a fetal position.

Nobody dared stand to help him.

"Lacero!"

The same curse from earlier flew towards Weitts once more, who had appeared behind Flint a second earlier. Clearly, she had conjured some sort of duplicate version of herself to take the curse from Flint. When she cast her next spell, the Grace that had been twitching on the ground vanished. This time, there was no drama as she batted Higgs's aside in much the same manner she had done earlier, but this time she made it look easy.

'Slower though,' Harry noticed.

"The same curse again, Terence? I'm disappointed."

"Serpensortia!"

A ten-foot-long viper lunged from the boy's wand and reared to strike Weitts. Before it could, she swept her wand towards Higgs. In an instant, the snake was a set of ropes which seemed hell-bent on binding Higgs. He sidestepped at the last second, cutting them in half without a word before whirling back on Weitts.

"Everte Statum!"

Again, Grace batted aside the curse, but this time, she sent it straight towards the boy himself. Higgs gracefully dodged the spell but all of a sudden, he found the ground underneath his feet to be made of ice. Before he knew it, he was on his back. He tried to jump to his feet, but as he did so, ropes appeared from nowhere, binding him to the ground as his wand sailed from his hand.

Slowly, Weitts crept her way towards her fallen opponent, getting down to his level before she slid her hand underneath his chin, tilting the wide-eyed boy's head up so that he was forced to meet her eyes.

"I am giving you a pass for your idiocy, Higgs. I will only do it once. I don't know what Flint convinced you of or offered you to help, but just know that whatever it was — it wasn't worth it."

The message was clear.

Do not cross me again.

Higgs nodded quickly and Grace patted the boy on the cheek in the way a proud mother may do her four or five-year-old son for counting to ten. Then, with a flick of her wand, she vanished the boy's restraints and he was on his feet in an instant, making his way towards the tunnels that branched off of the common room and towards the dormitories. He made it about halfway before he paused, looking back with wide eyes towards Weitts.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice filled with perfect innocence.

"M-m-my wand?" asked the other boy, looking like he very much regretted his decision to turn around.

"Oh, this?" said Grace, twirling the offending piece of wood between her nimble fingers. "I think I'll hold onto it for now. Just for the night, you know. I want to make sure that the message… sinks in." She looked at him inquisitively. "Unless, of course, you have any objections?"

Though the pain in Higgs's eyes was evident, he shook his head quickly, turning on his heel and scrambling down the tunnel towards the dormitory.

As for Flint, he was collected a moment later by two older prefects and hauled from the common room, likely being taken to the hospital wing.

Harry didn't have to ask. He knew that Madam Pomfrey would never hear the full story on how he had wound up there.

* * *

As the crowd finally thinned to only herself, Grace, Rhea, and a couple of third-year boys, Daphne decided that it was time to wrap up her rather extensive essay for Snape.

She was certain that in terms of content, insight, and length, it was far more than the man expected. As she scribbled down her conclusion, she briefly registered the sounds of Rhea wishing Grace a good night before she made her way up to her dorm. What she did not register was Grace sending a few not-so-subtle glares in the direction of the lingering third years, a move that sent them scampering up to their own dorm without further prompting.

After several more minutes of concluding what Daphne privately thought was quite the masterpiece, she rubbed her temples, nearly jumping out of her skin when a familiar voice spoke from right over her shoulder.

"I doubt even Snape was cruel enough to ask for that on your first day."

"Don't do that!" Daphne hissed at Grace, glancing cautiously around the room as she stowed her essay into her bag. It was, as she could clearly see, empty aside from the two of them.

Grace laughed softly. "I didn't mean to scare you. You're usually more observant."

"I'm usually not nose deep in an essay," Daphne defended, to which Grace dipped her head in acceptance.

"Touché." she returned, taking a seat beside Daphne as she folded her hands in her lap.

Daphne looked at her suspiciously. "If mother or father owled to ask you to keep an eye on me, you don't need to listen; It's not necessary. I can more than take care of-"

"Relax, Daphne," breathed Grace, raising a hand to silence the younger girl's protestations. "I have not sent nor received one owl from your parents in the past month, let alone since we've arrived at Hogwarts." She smiled a rare, genuine smile to the girl whom she considered as a second little sister. "Is it so wrong for _me_ to worry about you? Why does it have to come from your parents?"

Daphne blushed. "I'm fine!" she defended.

"Yes, I'm sure you are. For the record, I have no doubt that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself." She smiled a soft smile to Daphne once more. "That doesn't mean I don't have the right to worry about you though. It is still hard to wrap my head around the fact that the girl I watched grow up is now here with me at Hogwarts."

Daphne smiled genuinely back at her. "Thank you," she said, sounding almost shy. "I'm sure it will be even weirder for you next year when Charlotte starts up here."

Grace pulled a face. "You have no idea," she commented dryly. "It was all she talked about since getting her wand in July."

"I know," said Daphne with a soft smile of her own, "I spent as much time with her as you did — I always have."

"I know you have," said Grace fondly. Daphne and her sister had been best friends for as long as either of them could remember. As a matter of fact, Daphne had known Charlotte far longer than she had known even Tracey. "I think she's going to miss you more than me this year."

Daphne sighed. "I do wish she was here. It's odd without her, and I'm not sure it is a change I'm entirely thrilled with."

"You should take advantage of it in the best way you can," Grace advised, earning her a rare, confused look from Daphne. "Make new allies, maybe even friends." she elaborated.

"I have no interest in making friends with Malfoy and his goons, let alone Nott."

"I never told you whom to make friends with. I can understand why you would want to avoid becoming too close with children of Conservative leaders, but I doubt I need to tell you the importance of remaining on good terms with them, regardless."

"No," agreed Daphne, "I've heard it for half of my life. You don't need to remind me."

Grace chuckled. "Your parents did start quite early, didn't they? Anyway, I'm not telling you to make allies with Malfoy or Nott, though between me and you, you might want to consider Potter."

"Potter?" asked Daphne, completely baffled by the mere concept.

"Oh? Is there something wrong with him?"

"No, not really," Daphne conceded. "Not with him, anyway. But making friends with him would be as dangerous as slapping Draco across the face in terms of political alliances."

"I disagree," Grace argued lightly.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "He is the brother of _Charlus Potter_! The-Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of Magical Britain, The Gryffindor Golden Boy, The Beacon of The Light! If I allied myself with Potter, I would practically be waving around a sign saying that my family was going to jump camp to support Dumbledore."

Grace sniffed at the very idea of such a thing ever happening, but she shook her head. "I don't think you've been as observant as you ought to have been," she chided. "I don't think allying yourself with Potter would ally you with the Light side at all."

"But how-"

"Oh, come on, Daphne; I know you're better than that. Has Potter mentioned a word about his family since the two of you have arrived at Hogwarts?"

Daphne thought about it for a moment before slowly, she nodded. "He said something about his father not really being in his life."

"I didn't know that, but I'm not surprised whatsoever. He acts nothing like what people say his father is like. He is quiet, reserved, and extremely perceptive." She appraised Daphne for a long, calculating moment before she spoke next, her voice lowering by several octaves.

"I have no evidence to support this theory, but for some reason, I highly doubt Potter would prescribe to the Liberal ideologies. He seems far too logical and critical, and if he really has had little to do with his father, he will likely be entering the magical world as a fairly blank canvas."

Daphne's eyes widened once more, though this time it was with understanding. "You think I can sway him to our set of beliefs?"

"I think it's possible," admitted Grace. "But it's more than just politics. You two have more in common than either of you realise, and I think he would be a good match for you intellectually. What I am trying to say," Grace continued, preparing to surprise her young friend with her next words, "is that I think, through providing Potter a sort of safety net against the pureblood bigots through your family's name and clout, you could form not just an alliance, but a friendship."

* * *

**September 3, 1991**

**Potter Manor**

**7:42 AM**

James Charlus Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, esteemed philanthropist, and Senior Auror among other titles had not slept all that poorly the night previous, at least not by his more recent standards. In spite of that fact, James's eyes were heavy with weariness he continued to grapple with the mental fatigue that had been pressing firmly upon him since the Gringotts break-in more than a month earlier.

Rufous Scrimgeour, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been under heavy amounts of pressure from Bartemius Crouch Sr, the Minister for Magic, to provide some answers in regards to the break-in. Scrimgeour had put the same pressure on Alastor Moody, the Head of the Auror Corps.

As a by-product of that, James had been put under that same, intense pressure.

As one of the three senior-ranking Aurors, he'd been run ragged for the last month in an attempt to find answers that just did not seem to be there. James was certain of only one thing really, at least when it came to the Gringotts break-in.

Whoever had pulled off the break-in, despite their failure to actually get their hands on the stone, was a witch or wizard of prodigious skill. He was sure that nothing less would have managed to get them in and out of Gringotts alive, let alone seemingly unscathed and without leaving a trace in their wake.

James would have to leave for work in less than twenty minutes and as had been the case of late, he doubted very much that he would return before nine or ten o'clock that evening.

He felt his weariness lift a moment later, if admittedly marginally when a young, familiar-looking eagle owl flew in through the open window, causing James's heart to leap. It was his first correspondence from one of his sons. The rush of joy and excitement did not last long, as James would swear until the day he died that he had felt his heart drop from his throat to the pit of his stomach upon reading the first letter of Charles's Hogwarts tenure.

_Dear father,_

_I did it! I'm in Gryffindor, just like you and mum! I'm so relieved! I've never been so nervous in my life! I seriously thought I would throw up last night. _

_I still think you should've told me about the hat, but I guess we can argue about that another time, since I actually have something important to tell you._

_I met Harry for the first time on the way to Hogwarts and talked with him once or twice since then. _

_Dad… it's not good._

_He's really angry with you and he's being a right wanker about it! He said a load of terrible things about me, you, and even Gryffindor! Can you believe it? Oh, yeah, he's a Slytherin by the way, as if it couldn't be any worse. He's really angry with you. He said that you should feel terrible for what "they did to him" but he wouldn't tell me what. Honestly, I think he's being a bit of a drama queen, but I wouldn't really expect anything less from someone in Slytherin. Maybe he's trying to be cunning or something? I don't know. He even said that for all anybody knew, he could be the Boy-Who-Lived! Can you believe that? I mean — I know he didn't mean it, but still!_

_Snape was as greasy and as horrible as you said he would be! I have detention on Saturday and Sunday for talking back to him in class. I mean, yeah, I did do that, but only after he insulted me and you a bunch of times first. It's not fair, but I guess you did warn me about him. _

_I met the Malfoy heir on the train too. He was a bit of a prat, to be honest. He tried to tell me who I could and couldn't hang out with. Harry actually shut him up really nicely, but then he was also kind of nice to him, so I don't know what's going on there. I hope Harry doesn't actually become friends with a Malfoy just because he's in Slytherin! _

_Oh yeah, Ron's in Gryffindor too, by the way. He told me to tell you hi from him. _

_Anyway, I have an essay from Snape I need to start, so I'm going to stop this here._

_I already can't wait to see you at Christmas!_

_Write back soon,_

_Charlus_

James felt himself physically deflate. It was no surprise that Harry held him responsible for his childhood, whatever that may have been. He had feared that reality for ten long years, but to have it confirmed in such blunt terms was another thing altogether. Not for the first time, James wondered if Peter and Albus had been wrong after all. Neither of them was wrong very often.

After all, one was the greatest wizard alive, and Peter was brilliant in his own way. He made an excellent detective for the DMLE, even if none of the department knew of the advantage that he had with his animagus ability. He had also been a spectacular financial advisor and had even acted as James's solicitor during the whole spat over the Boy-Who-Lived books a few years back. James could only imagine where he would be without Peter's guidance over the years, let alone his friendship, especially after that night…

James shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind. He was years passed the stage of depression now, though thoughts of Lily and the night that he lost her were still more painful than any wound he had ever suffered on the front lines as an Auror. Dumbledore had forever preached the power of love. After losing Lily, James had truly experienced that for the first time.

Now, he reflected on that power, one that was said by the greatest wizard alive to be able to trump all else. Closing his eyes and taking a deep, centreing breath, James summoned a quill to him as well as two pieces of parchment. If he was going to overcome the fear and regret that had haunted him for the better part of a decade, the conjoined powers of desperation and love were a good way of doing it.

'You know what they say?' he thought, reminding himself painfully of Sirius, who had loved setting up punchlines with phrases like that. 'There's no time like the present.'

* * *

**Authors Endnote:**

**One thing to clear up, since we've met James once more and this will come up later in the year.**

**In canon, James's parents are Fleamont and Euphemia. I have decided to change it, because his father's backstory will be elaborated on much later, and I just cannot picture a man named Fleamont in that position. And Dorea… well, I've honestly just always enjoyed that trope, so...**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 9th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	6. TFA Ch 5: Forgiveness & Friends

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 5: Forgiveness & Friends**

* * *

_**September 3, 1991**_

_**The Greenhouses**_

_**9:10 AM**_

When the bell rang to signify the start of their first Herbology lesson at Hogwarts, Harry and the rest of the first year contingents from Slytherin and Ravenclaw were gathered in front of the greenhouses. It seemed to Harry that the Ravenclaws were a fair bit more punctual than the Gryffindors, at least if this lesson was anything to go by. The Gryffindors hadn't exactly shown up early to their first Potions lesson the day before.

At precisely 9:10 AM, mere seconds after the bell rang, the greenhouse door opened and out stepped a rather dumpy looking woman with a kind face and flyaway hair that was beginning to go grey. Harry recognized her from the staff table and was pretty sure that she was the Head of House for the Hufflepuffs.

"Good morning ladies and gents," she greeted them in a rather chipper tone of voice. "Come on in, come on in! Take a seat, take a seat!" The tables all had four stools. By the time everybody had shuffled around, Harry was left sitting with Zabini, Bulstrode and a small, shy, mousy haired girl by the name of Lisa Turpin.

Once they had all taken their seats and the chatter had died down, Professor Sprout began her lecture.

"Welcome everybody to your first Herbology lesson here at Hogwarts. I am Professor Sprout and I shall be your Herbology professor. Though none of you are in my house, I want to tell you all that my door is always open for those who need help. But that's not what we're here to discuss!" she said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. "We are here to introduce you all to the wonders of Herbology. I would go over the structure of the Hogwarts curriculum and the O.W.L and N.E.W.T examinations, but I have a feeling your heads would all rot from boredom if I went into that like I am sure all of your teachers have done thus far?" The class's mutual sigh of relief was all the answer Professor Sprout needed, and with a knowing smile, she pressed on.

"I'm sure all of your teachers have gone on and on about how important their subjects are, and though I am not about to tell you that Herbology will be the most important thing each and every one of you learn at this school, I think the subject as a whole is looked down on by those who do not understand it. Some of the lessons you participate in within the walls of these greenhouses in future years will be some of the most difficult and dangerous work you will do while at this school. What?" she asked knowingly, as several people smirked exasperatedly. Padma Patil let out a rather loud, rather derisive snort, and Crabbe and Goyle actually snickered. "You don't believe me, do you? Well then, can anyone here name me a plant that could potentially kill a witch or wizard?"

The class went dead silent.

Harry's hand rose into the air, as did the Asian girl's from Ravenclaw — Su Li, as well as Greengrass's.

"Mister… Potter," indicated the professor, and though Harry did not falter, he also didn't fail to notice that the professor's voice hitched a bit on his name.

"Devil's Snare," he answered simply, to which she nodded, prompting him to go on. "It's a plant with tentacle-like vines that will strangle anything that touches it."

Patil was not laughing now and all of a sudden, Harry did not see any smiles in the faces dotted around the room.

"Concise and correct, Mister Potter. Five points to Slytherin. Now, can anybody tell me how you would defend yourself against this plant?"

This time, the professor pointed out Greengrass.

"Light or fire," she answered easily. "Devil's Snare tends to prefer dark, damp climates and is completely vulnerable to either option. Fire is the best way to actually kill the plant, but intense light will keep it at bay."

"Perfectly correct. Another five points to Slytherin." She peered around at the class, allowing a small, knowing smile to creep onto her face at the sight of her class's sudden change of heart. "I am glad to see that you will not take Herbology lightly. It is a subject that requires an odd mixture of precision, subtlety, and fearlessness, and I am sure it will be physically and mentally stimulating enough for the lot of you.

"Now, in this course…"

And she was off.

* * *

No practical work was done that day, as the entirety of their single period lesson was taken up by Professor Sprout's outline for the course. Harry really hadn't put as much time into _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ as he had some of his other school material. However, he was reasonably satisfied that he still was already somewhere around the Easter holidays on Sprout's curriculum. Harry made a mental note to read more of the textbook, since he was quickly becoming more and more aware that this subject could turn out to be useful in Potions as well: a subject he was quite interested in by comparison.

Again, Harry defaulted to his strategy of following other students to their next lesson, as he had not the foggiest idea of where the History of Magic classroom was. To his surprise, the classroom was not too far of a walk once they had re-entered the castle. The bulk of the first year Slytherins even managed to slip into the classroom moments before the bell. To Harry's far greater surprise and amusement, their teacher, Professor Binns, had not even bothered taking the attendance, nor did he wait for any additional stragglers to make their arrivals. Instead, he simply unrolled a comically long piece of parchment that Harry correctly assumed were his notes before slowly, in the most monotone voice one could possibly imagine, he began to read.

Harry found it was quite ironic that Professor Binns had simply woken up one morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Though the deceased professor was not physically doing any harm to anyone present, Harry could have easily described the looks on the faces of most of his peers to resemble those appearing on people who were clinically brain dead.

By the time the class had concluded, Harry had to grudgingly concede the point that Weitts had made to him the previous morning in the common room and resigned himself to simply memorising the history textbook.

'Hell,' he thought, 'he doesn't even take the register. If I memorize the textbook, I just won't show up at all.'

Harry was still trying to wake up the parts of his brain that had chosen to simply fall asleep when he took his seat at the Slytherin table for lunch. A moment later, Daphne Greengrass had taken the seat across from him, with Tracey Davis slotting into his right.

"That was so boring!" moaned Tracey, piling food onto her plate at a rapid pace. Harry resisted the urge to shoot the petite girl an inquisitive glance as he nodded quietly, a motion that Greengrass mimicked from across the table.

"It was pretty dull," Greengrass admitted. "I like history, but if I'm being honest, I might just read the textbook and sleep in the lesson."

"Why even bother showing up in the first place?" asked Harry, to which Tracey just gaped at him and Daphne crooked an eyebrow, looking intrigued. "He didn't take the register at all and if he were going to make a habit of it, he would have started on the first day." He shook his head in disgust. "He never even glanced up from his notes. I doubt he would ever even notice."

"But you can't just not show up!" protested Tracey.

In response, Harry just stared pointedly back at her. "Why not? Is there even a rule about attendance? If so, I haven't seen it."

"Because it's just-just — wrong!"

Harry shrugged. "It seems that having a teacher who doesn't even pay attention to his class is more wrong to me, but maybe that's just my opinion."

"He does have a point, Tracey," Greengrass admitted. "It's surprisingly logical, actually."

"No need for the tone of surprise." Harry quipped, which made Tracey giggle and Daphne roll her eyes.

"Judging by your brother's display in Potions, I think my surprise is justified."

"I am not my brother," Harry countered. His voice stayed perfectly calm and polite, but there was a certain note of finality hidden there.

"Clearly," Greengrass noted with some amusement, "it doesn't seem like he has a lot of instincts that lead him to act logically."

"No," agreed Harry, allowing his intense green eyes to flick over towards the Gryffindor table, where he spotted his brother in conversation with Ron Weasley and a sandy-haired boy whom Harry remembered was named Finnigan. "It really doesn't, does it?"

"No," Greengrass repeated, "but I'm sure if anybody can get away with it, it's probably the Boy-Who-Lived." Daphne did not miss the way Harry twitched in annoyance at the nickname, but she didn't think Tracey had noticed and did not comment on the movement herself. "So," she said, "are you excited for Transfiguration?"

"To be honest, I'm excited for any and every bit of magic," Harry admitted. Daphne took that statement with a bit of surprise.

"Eager, are we?"

"You could say that, yes," Harry answered. "But Transfiguration as a concept does sound quite interesting."

"I've heard it's really hard, at least at firs," Davis put in, and Daphne nodded, having heard similar accounts from some older students. Harry just shrugged.

"You don't seem overly concerned," Daphne observed.

"Magic seems to come quite naturally to me," he said casually.

"You seem to have a strong grasp on theory, at least," Greengrass commended, to which Harry just dipped his head in thanks.

"I put a lot of time into studying this summer. I'm just glad to see that the time is paying off so far."

"What subject are you most interested in?" Greengrass asked.

Harry thought about it for a moment before answering. "Defence Against the Dark Arts seems like the most interesting, but I admit, Charms seems the most useful."

Davis rolled her eyes. "Of course, the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived would be most interested in defence," she said exasperatedly.

Harry's eye twitched. "I can assure you, my interest in Defence Against the Dark Arts has absolutely nothing to do with my brother."

"You don't get along with your brother?" Davis asked. Daphne winced at her bluntness, but Harry was not overly bothered.

"I suppose you could say that, in a roundabout way. I don't really care one way or another."

"It must get annoying," probed Daphne, "constantly being compared and linked to him as if you are the same person?"

Harry's lips twitched. "I couldn't care less if people are dense enough to think that we're the same person. When they find out that they were wrong, it will only be to their disadvantage, not mine." Daphne's eyes flashed with something that Harry thought may have been approval.

"It must be cool though," pressed Tracy. "Having Charlus Potter as a brother, I mean?"

"Maybe if things were different," Harry responded quietly.

Tracey blinked and made to speak up, but Daphne silenced her with a quick glare.

"Speaking of lessons though," Harry said smoothly, easily diverting the subject to something more comfortable, "do you know where the Transfiguration classroom actually is?"

Greengrass shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she admitted. "I've just been following everybody else."

Harry's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Great minds think alike," he noted, causing Greengrass to look surprised for just a second before rolling her eyes.

"Are you as good at Transfiguration as you are at defence and Charms?" blurted Tracey, taking Harry by surprise.

He recovered in the blink of an eye. "I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

"Oh, come on!" she persisted. "You must have _some _idea?"

He just shrugged. "I know the content well, but that doesn't mean I'll be good at it, per se." He decided that leaving out the bit about him practising over the summer and having no troubles with the subject was probably for the best.

Before any of them knew it, they had all entered Professor McGonagall's classroom, and Harry found himself sitting beside Lillian Moon.

Professor McGonagall entered the room not a moment after the bell had rung, and upon entering, she surveyed them all sternly before taking the attendance and looking out at all of them with a look of utmost seriousness plastered across her face.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and potentially dangerous magic you will learn while at Hogwarts. Anyone caught messing about in this lesson shall be asked to leave and will not return. You have been warned."

'A bit ominous.'

When no one moved or said anything, Professor McGonagall started the lesson itself.

"In short, transfiguration is not as simple as it may sound. Transfiguration is not simply turning one object into another through the wave of one's wand. It requires a great deal of mental awareness, concentration and visualization. If you truly want to master the art of transfiguration, I must warn you that it will require a great deal of discipline on your part and will involve quite a lot of self-study."

Harry was not even remotely deterred. McGonagall, unlike most other teachers, did not seem to be explicitly preaching the importance of her subject. In spite of that fact, the way in which she spoke of it, proposing it as some sort of insurmountable challenge, was intriguing enough in its own right. At the very least, it certainly captivated Harry's attention.

"Furthermore," continued the Deputy Headmistress, "turning one thing into another through the use of incantation, blended with mental preparation is only one small section of the overarching art of transfiguration. There are four branches of transfiguration. Each branch contains its own smaller sub-branches. For example, human transfiguration would be considered a sub-branch of transformation. The four major branches of Transfiguration are transformation, untransfiguration, vanishment and conjuration. As you may be able to imagine, transformation is the branch which is concerned with transfiguring an object into something different. The opposing branch, untransfiguration, involves recognizing if an object is transfigured and reverting it back to its original state.

"The other two branches also juxtapose one another. That is to say, they are opposites. Conjuration is the word that describes the magic involved in creating something that was not there before. For example," she waved her wand, causing a flock of birds to rush from the end of it in a similar manner to the way Weitts had done the previous night in the common room. "That was a conjuration. In fact, it is usually the first one you will learn. Vanishment," she continued. "Is the name for the magic required in making something vanish, as the name suggests." She gave a long sweep of her wand and the birds disappeared. "Are there any questions?"

Harry's hand was indicated by Professor McGonagall a moment later. "You mentioned sub-branches, Professor. I didn't notice anything about those in the first year portion of our textbook, so I was wondering if you could explain a little bit about them?"

Harry saw, for the briefest of moments, Professor McGonagall's eyes widen in what must have been surprise. She allowed a rare if admittedly small smile to tug at the corner of her lips.

"Certainly. It is not something we will delve into for several years, but yes, I can give you a background. A sub-branch of transfiguration, as the name suggests, is a branch within a branch, for lack of a better phrase. It is a part of transfiguration that fits under one of the four main branches but still carries significance. For example, human transfiguration, that is to say, transforming at least one part of the human body using magic, would be a sub-branch of transformation as I have said already. There are deeper concepts as well; nano-branches and femto-branches for example. I shall not go into detail on these now, as they are rather more advanced than your current level, but you may look into them privately if you would like…"

The lecture continued for some time. Had the class not been a double period, McGonagall's speech would have taken up the entirety of the class. Lucky as they were, they had a double lesson today and finally, Professor McGonagall set them the first task of their Hogwarts career within her subject.

She withdrew a wooden box from her desk and opened the lid, revealing an absurd number of matchsticks. "Your task," she informed them, "is to transfigure these matchsticks into needles. Now, I do not want anybody to become discouraged if this feat does not happen within the lesson. I have only ever taught two students who achieved the task on their first day, and even then, they managed to perform it only moments before the final bell.

"The incantation," she waved her wand, causing the incantation to appear on the blackboard at the front of the room, broken down into syllables, "is on the board, and there is a diagram of the correct wand movement on page 11 in your textbooks."

The sound of rustling paper filled the room as everybody scrambled to turn to the correct page in their books before making their way up to the front.

"I'll get you a matchstick while I'm up there," Harry told Moon, standing at once, since he knew there was no need for him to look at the book.

"You don't have to," the girl said quickly, blushing.

Harry shrugged. "It's no trouble; I'm going up either way. I'll be back."

True to his word, Harry came back to the desk with a handful of matchsticks. He deposited one in front of Moon before dropping a pile in front of himself, something that made Moon just look at him skeptically before muttering "thank you" under her breath.

"It was my pleasure," Harry said, not even realising he had pulled out his typical charming smile that had been used primarily to disarm his teachers in muggle primary school. Lillian blushed once more, diverting her gaze down to the diagram in her textbook.

"You can use mine if you'd like," she offered, indicating her already open textbook, as Harry had not bothered turning to the correct page of his own.

He had debated struggling with the transfiguration on purpose in order to not stand out, but he had decided against such action. After all, he wanted the highest marks he could get, and to outdo his brother, and even his father, who was apparently an ace at transfiguration if the school records had anything to say on the matter. If he wanted to accomplish all of those things, the latter two, in particular, he would have to sacrifice his anonymity.

"Thanks, but there's no need." He slid his wand from his holster, drawing the tight, circular motion perfectly with his wand before ending with a jab towards the matchstick, picturing every square of the matchstick changing as if he were watching a movie. Though the textbook said to picture the finished product, Harry had found that this method worked far better. He supposed the book recommended the former due to the fact that it was probably easier for your average wizard to imagine. After all, most of them didn't have muggle films as a point of reference.

"Compasatus Verto."

Beside him, Lillian Moon stopped her own wand movement to allow her mouth to fall open and her eyes to widen comically. Harry's matchstick had morphed into a perfect needle in front of her very eyes. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from nearby and in moments, Professor McGonagall was on top of them, and the class at large had gone completely quiet.

"By the heavens," murmured Professor McGonagall. She snatched Harry's needle off of the desk and holding it up to her face to inspect it, even tilting it so the light reflected off of the needle. "it's… perfect." She turned to Harry; a suitably gobsmacked expression imprinted upon her usually impassive visage. "That was your first attempt, Master Potter?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry answered automatically, the smooth and polite confirmation sliding effortlessly off of his tongue.

The professor placed a hand over her heart. "Dear me, I have never… not in all of my years… why, I'm not certain it has ever…" She shook her head, seeming to shake the cobwebs out of her brain before turning back to Harry. "Take a very well earned twenty points to Slytherin, Master Potter." She eyed the pile of matchsticks still in front of him. "You were confident you would not have issues?" she asked, sounding even more surprised.

He just continued to smile disarmingly back up at her. "Magic has always come quite naturally to me, Professor," he said for the second time that day. "I thought it best to be prepared, just in case."

"Well," said McGonagall, now seeming completely at a loss, "I suppose I shall have to make things more interesting for you, won't I?"

For the rest of the class, Harry found himself assigned extra tasks from Professor McGonagall. Turning the matchstick different colours. Making it pointier. Making it less pointy. Adding dents. Making it shiny. He had found adding snake markings rather challenging, but by the end of the lesson, he had even managed that, something which earned him an additional ten points for Slytherin, which left him feeling an odd, warm feeling in his stomach that was almost completely foreign to him. He thought that it may have been pride.

He'd even had time to help out Lillian Moon beside him. She had not come all that close to completing the transformation, not even with his tutelage, but she had gone from nothing to a sharper, silver-hued matchstick, so he thought he was clearly doing something right.

When they all left the classroom, they left a thoroughly bamboozled Minerva McGonagall behind them.

'And to think I was impressed with my lions,' McGonagall had thought

Hermione Granger had nearly managed the full transformation on that first day. Charlus Potter had actually managed an extremely rudimentary variant of the transfiguration right at the end of the period, exactly matching his father's feat from twenty years ago.

Not even James, the most talented student whom she had ever taught beyond a shadow of a doubt had even remotely compared to the prodigious skill of the forgotten Potter.

* * *

_**September 5, 1991**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:26 AM**_

Harry strolled into the Great Hall a bit later than the rest on his fourth day at Hogwarts. He had decided that since he was an early riser, he may as well take advantage of that fact to go off and read in the library. He had also managed to do his essay for McGonagall during that time, and he thought that would likely be a good system in terms of completing his prep.

To his surprise, Greengrass and Davis seemed to have left a seat open. It was beside the latter and across from the former. Harry slid easily into the seat and slid his bag underneath the table, reaching for some fruit as he did so.

"Not an early riser?" asked Greengrass, prompting Harry to smile knowingly back at her.

"Quite the early riser, actually. I've just been in the library."

From beside him, Tracey stifled a massive yawn behind her hand. "Sp-sp-speak for yourself!" she finally managed, a statement that made Daphne crack a small smile and Harry to shake his head in bemusement.

There was just something about Tracey. She was the opposite of a prototypical Slytherin in many ways. She wore her emotions on her sleeve and was just a genuinely upbeat and bubbly person. Just the way she recklessly dove headfirst into each and every conversation ingratiated her to Harry, in an odd type of way. It was oddly endearing. True, it could very well end up being the girl's undoing within Slytherin House. Well, that and the fact that Harry was beginning to suspect that, in spite of what she said, Tracey Davis was no pureblood. Even in saying that, Harry thought he liked Tracey, if for no other reason than that she was an unorthodox and... entertaining conversationalist.

As he pondered this, the hundreds of owls suddenly rushed into the Great Hall. Harry, who had no reason to believe he would be receiving any type of post all year was caught completely unaware when a young, pristine-looking eagle owl swooped down in front of him and stuck out its leg. It did so only after allowing his twin, Charlus, to alleviate it of another letter moments earlier, but that fact only added to Harry's mounting surprise.

He had to try very hard not to allow his breath to hitch in his throat as the dots all came together.

'It's from father.'

"Who is that from?" Tracey asked as Harry reached out and took the letter with hands that he just barely managed to stop from shaking.

He did not answer, taking his time to centre himself as he broke the wax on the immaculate looking letter before, with a cold stab of bitterness in his chest, he read the words written upon the piece of parchment.

_Harry,_

_I had hoped that you would owl me over the summer, but I completely get why you wouldn't want to._

_This is probably going to sound like the worst excuse of an apology you have ever heard in your life. Merlin knows how terrible at these your mother said I was, but I honestly am so sorry for anything and everything that happened over the last ten years. I knew Petunia was not the brightest ray of sunshine that had ever graced the world with its presence, but I never thought her, and her husband would mistreat you. You were family; I thought that would be enough. If I had a brother — hell, even if Sirius would have had a kid, I would NEVER mistreat them!_

_I do not know exactly what Petunia and her husband did, but if what Charlus tells me about your first conversation is true, then I think I may have made a bigger mistake than I realized._

_There is so much I need to tell you, to make you understand, but I can't do much of it with an ancient quill and a boring old piece of parchment. I was never one for words anyway, unless they were to make someone laugh, but Merlin knows I am even more useless with a quill and parchment._

_I want to arrange a meeting; just the two of us, to sort things out. I know I might have ruined my chances with you, but I at least want to try and make things right._

_If it's fine with you and you agree to meet me, I'll owl Professor Dumbledore and have you excused from the castle to meet with me in Hogsmeade. You're not technically old enough, but it won't matter. It's a rare privilege granted to the children of Wizengamot families… Oh, Merlin, I really hope you read about the Wizengamot, or this is going to be an absolute nightmare to explain!_

_Anyway, please owl me as soon as you can with your response. I'll understand if you do not want to meet with me, but I really would appreciate a chance to explain everything._

_Write back soon either way… please._

_Love,_

_Your Father_

Harry took a long time simply reading over the last two words that had been written on the pristine piece of parchment in his hands. "Your Father" were two words that were so foreign to him that they may as well have been written in a different language altogether. It seemed almost… wrong for him to be seeing them at all, but yet, he was.

There was a very large, very savage part of him that wanted to throw this letter back in James Potter's face. To respond with how awful a parent and a person he was and say he never wanted to talk to him again.

There was, however, a more logical side of Harry that realized that, at the very least, a relationship with his father, whether natural or artificial, would likely be one of benefit. As Lord of House Potter, James still wielded more control over Harry than he was comfortable with, and by cultivating his and his father's relationship, Harry could potentially bypass the risk of James exercising that control in ways that Harry would much rather he did not. On top of that, Harry knew there were other, more political reasons to at least try and reacquaint with his father.

There was also a small but still very much present part of Harry that had spent the last ten years dreaming of a father. No matter what he thought of the man himself, Harry came to a sudden, shocking conclusion, one that was driven by more empathy and probably naivety than he had thought he could possess.

'I can't turn him down.'

He hated himself for his weakness but despite all of his bitterness and resentment, Harry was, in spite of everything that set him apart, an eleven-year-old boy who had dreamed of having a father for all of his life. Now, when presented with the chance to meet the man, there was still a small, undeniable part of him that wanted to do all it could to make amends.

That was not to say by any means that Harry would be bending over backwards to meet the whims of his Father. It just meant that no matter how neutrally he would try to approach the meeting, he would at the very least grant the man a second chance.

* * *

_**September 6, 1991**_

_**The Potions Classroom**_

_**9:10 AM**_

This time, Harry noticed that his brother and Weasley did not show up late to the lesson, though he also noticed that the two of them looked a lot more nervous to be in the classroom in the first place.

Snape, like the previous day, took the register. This time, the only insinuation of incompetence that was thrown out was towards his brother. As soon as the register had been taken, he rounded upon Charlus without pause.

"Incompetent Potter," he snapped, making Charlus flush red immediately, "what is a common use for the plant that is also known by the titles of Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

It took a great deal of effort for Harry not to crack up as his brother fumbled for an answer that he himself had explicitly given to the class just days earlier. After a few moments of this, Snape put him out of his misery. Depending on one's definition of misery, Harry supposed.

"Pathetic, Potter!" he hissed. "You made it blatantly evident to us all last lesson that reading was not one of your areas of specialty, numerous and fantastical as I am sure that they are." His lip curled disdainfully and much of the Slytherin side of the room found themselves suppressing their enjoyment of the situation. Only Harry himself, as well as Zabini, Greengrass and Davis, managed to not crack up, though Tracey was a near miss.

"Mere days later," Snape continued, his voice rising in volume to cut across their reactions, "the Boy-Who-Does-Not-Read has also shown us, it seems, his ineptitude with a quill and parchment." There were more snickers as Charlus grew more and more indignant by the second.

"I can write perfectly fine, thank you very much!" the boy said aloud, at which point Harry internally cringed for him.

As Harry internally wondered when his brother would learn to just shut up, he mentally noted, with a smile playing on his lips, that Charlus had said nothing to disprove Snape's claim that reading was beyond him.

"Can you?" asked Snape, miming surprise. "Why Potter, I must offer my most sincere apology. I had thought, which was most foolish of me, that from your incomprehensible lack of note-taking in spite of my more than clear instructions that you were simply illiterate." His lip curled once more as the class's mirth, at least on the Slytherin side of the room became louder by the second. "It appears, something I misinterpreted due to my own poor judgement, of course, that you are merely incomprehensibly incompetent, and incapable of following instructions; not illiterate as I had feared."

At this, Parkinson could not restrain herself anymore and burst into a fit of giggles, which prompted Malfoy and Nott to add their own gales of laughter to what was quickly becoming a symphony, added to by Crabbe and Goyle the next second.

Charlus looked as if he would explode, but before he could, Snape cut in once more.

"Your task," he said without preamble, "is to prepare a passable vial of Cura de Gorxa, due on my desk by the end of today's lesson. You may work in partners and choose whom you would like. Be aware that any ineptitude on the part of your partner will be representative of your failure to prevent said ineptitude from taking place." He scowled out at all of them when no one moved before he barked, "Begin!"

Everybody made to scramble and Harry, who had thought working with Zabini had gone pretty well last time, made to turn to his fellow first year once more. Before he coul, he was distracted when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, which made him tense for a moment before turning to face the sapphire eyed girl who seemed to be the resident potions prodigy.

"I was wondering if you'd like to work together?" she asked Harry, seeming to take a fair bit of pleasure in his brief look of surprise. "You seemed interested in how I managed my potion last time," she added innocently. Harry could see that whatever her motive if any at all, it was certainly premeditated. Davis was already partnered up with Lillian Moon.

Harry was a lot of things, but stupid enough to look a gift horse in the mouth was not one of them.

He smiled at the Greengrass heiress. Zabini, seeing that he had just lost his first choice of partner, got graciously to his feet and left the table, allowing Daphne to join Harry.

"I hope you have no objections to constructive criticism?" Daphne asked, and Harry would have gawked at her confidence that bordered on arrogance if she had not displayed her prowess already.

Instead of gawking, he just smiled back at her. "None at all."

"Good," she responded, becoming at once more business-like. "First question, do you know what Cura de Gorxa actually is?"

"It's a simple potion that's used to relieve pain in the throat."

Daphne nodded approvingly. "Correct. For future reference, it's also called Strepsirum in more casual circles."

Harry hadn't known that, but he supposed it would make sense to not call it by its Galician name at all times.

"Next question," Daphne asked, and Harry became aware that they were falling behind many of the others, who were already scrambling for ingredients, "you do understand the importance of proper ingredients and the easy, typical signs to tell the difference between good and bad ingredients, correct?"

"Yes," Harry told her, launching into a rushed explanation that she accepted.

"That will do for now," she told him, before reaching into her school bag, which Harry realized a second later was clearly enhanced after she pulled out a rather massive kit of ingredients. "As you can see, we don't need to bother with the school's ingredients, which in and of itself is an advantage since most of those are probably cross-contaminated anyway. Now," she said, "if you set up the cauldron, I'll prepare the ingredients."

"That sounds perfectly acceptable." Harry quoted Zabini from the last lesson, noticing to his slight amusement how the roles had reversed with his switch of partners.

Quickly, Harry realized exactly how Daphne had finished so early last lesson. Beyond that, he quickly deduced that she was actually more prodigious in the field than he had even suspected. He had thought at the time that she was probably quite a bit better than him when, in reality, they weren't even in the same league.

At one point, to his horror, Greengrass added the next two ingredients both at once when, according to the instructions, you were to add the first, perform the next instruction, and only then add the second.

"Greengrass, what the-"

"Shh," she told him, pressing a finger to her lips before looking as if nothing had happened at all. "Now," she asked him, "what's next?"

"Stir seven times clockwise, pause for ten seconds, and repeat the process six times," he answered without even bothering to read the board and ignored the rather obvious mistake she had seemingly made.

"Wrong," she said cheerfully.

Harry gaped at her. "Uh… Greengrass… the instructions-"

"Are not the only, or even the best way of brewing a potion in almost any scenario," she dismissed.

"Then why-"

"Why give them at all? Because Snape, no matter what he wishes, has to follow a Ministry approved curriculum. The recipes and instructions he gives us are the Ministry approved versions." When she saw Harry would cut in, she pressed a finger to her lips again to signify he should stay quiet. "They're taught to us because they are the least risky, least difficult and most conservative ways to brew potions." At his aghast stare, her lips twitched. "As you're about to find out, they're usually not the fastest or most efficient way of doing it. They're just used to make sure idiots don't screw it up."

"And this isn't taught to us because..."

Greengrass glanced around the room and saw that Snape was coming ever closer. "That is another conversation for another time," she told him, taking on her lecturing tone once more. "Stir five times clockwise, once anti-clockwise, then pause for five seconds and repeat five times."

S,eptically, Harry did as he was told as Greengrass prepared the next ingredient beside him. To his shock, the potion not only turned the colour it was supposed to before adding the ingredient that Greengrass had added early, which was a bright purple, but it also skipped the next step entirely, turning dark green.

That shut Harry up.

Shocked, he looked at his partner with wide eyes and she actually had to stifle giggles. "Do you trust me now?" she asked, to which Harry just nodded dumbly in return.

For the rest of the lesson, Harry followed Greengrass's instructions, watching in transfixed amazement as their potion progressively moved through its stages at a rapidly accelerated rate. To her credit, she was a good teacher. She actually took the time to explain each step to Harry; not just how to do it, but why it would work as opposed to the original instructions. As it turned out, their potion was completed a solid thirty minutes before the rest. They finished so far ahead of the rest of the class that Snape had politely told them both to just get up and leave.

As they exited the class and made to go in opposite directions, Greengrass for the common room and Harry for the library, he called out to her at the last second.

"Greengrass?"

She turned, arching a perfect eyebrow in question. "Thank you for your help and patience," he told her sincerely.

She smiled. "My pleasure," she responded, before giving him an odd look. "Maybe we could work together more often? You seem really good in other subjects and you actually do seem quite competent in Potions. Maybe you could help me and possibly Tracey with some other subjects and I could help you with Potions?"

Harry thought about it for just a moment before he nodded. The allure of knowledge was just too strong. "I think that could do us both some good," he said, dipping his head to her and moving to turn around.

"Potter."

He froze in mid-turn, whirling back around to face her. "Yes?"

"If we're going to be working together more often, I think you should call me Daphne."

Harry could not help but smile, his chest filling with an odd, warm feeling that he found to be completely unfamiliar to him. As he formed his response, he failed to name the feeling, though he thought it may have had something to do with what felt like the formation of his first real friendship.

"I think I would like that, Daphne, and you are more than welcome to call me Harry."

* * *

_**September 6, 1991**_

_**The Headmaster's Office**_

_**8:01 PM**_

Charlus found himself in awe of the ornate trinkets that were scattered all across Professor Dumbledore's office. He wondered, absentmindedly, how many of them the man had created himself and how many he had acquired on his countless travels.

"I see my collection has caught your eye," Dumbledore said proudly, that all too familiar twinkle in the old man's eyes. For some, that twinkle had always been off-putting, but for Charlus, who had seen the headmaster off and on for as long as he could remember, it was oddly comforting.

"Yes, sir," Charlus said eagerly, finally pulling his attention off of the trinkets and onto the man himself. Dumbledore was wearing magenta robes and had his fingers laced in front of him as he peered up at Charlus. "Sorry," Charlus added sheepishly, "I didn't mean to distract you or anything… it was just-"

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry for distracting me? Merlin's beard, Charlus, fate knows that if there is any dweller of this realm that needs such idle distraction, it is I. No, you have nothing to apologise for. Please, take a seat." Charlus did so instantly, gazing attentively across the desk at his headmaster. "How has your first week of official magical education treated you?" Dumbledore asked, fixing the entirety of his attention upon Charlus. "I know you have been eager for it to begin for many years."

Charlus beamed. "It's been great, sir," he answered. "Professor McGonagall seemed really pleased with me in Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts was brilliant!"

"Was it now? If you can forgive an old man's short attention span for a moment, what about your lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts ingratiated the subject to you as a whole?"

"Well," Charlus began, "Professor Hurst is brilliant, for one thing! She's a bit… I don't know — not creepy or anything, but just the way she talks… it's..." he trailed off.

"Passionate?" Dumbledore offered gently. "Enraptured? Perhaps even ominous?"

"Yeah, all of those, actually. But it's not just her," he put in. "We spent the week learning the Aegis Vocar shield charm. She said it was the most basic, but I thought it was brilliant! A lot of the class had a hard time, but I managed to do it today pretty much perfectly during our second lesson! — Aegis Vocar!" Charlus intoned as the shield popped up around him.

"A commendable accomplishment," Dumbledore praised with a smile. If Charlus had been more perceptive — way more perceptive, he may have noticed the briefest flash of surprise in Dumbledore's eyes when he spoke of learning the Aegis Vocar shield charm. "Well," he continued, his smile still firmly in place, "if nothing else, it has certainly been a busy first week you have had. Two detentions already? Why, if I didn't know any better, I may think that you were gearing up for an attempt at your father's record! As a matter of fact, if Professor Snape had gotten his way when he came to me last Monday, you may well have given it a run for its money."

Charlus blushed and recoiled a bit at the reminder, but the headmaster's eyes were still twinkling as merrily as when he had first walked in. "Snape did come to you, then?"

"Professor Snape, Charlus," Dumbledore corrected gently. "And yes, he did indeed. He seemed to be under the distinct impression that you managed to vanish into thin air and was not at all convinced when I proposed the altogether more likely theory that you merely slipped out the classroom door." His eyes were twinkling now even more than before. Charlus knew, in that moment, that Professor Dumbledore was aware of his cloak and that he was choosing, at least for now, to turn a blind eye. "I would ask, however, that in the future, you do not actively antagonize Professor Snape, whether it be in or out of his classroom." His voice was not stern per se, but it definitely held a certain amount of authority to it that cowed Charlus without much issue.

"I won't if he doesn't do it first," Charlus muttered.

Dumbledore sighed. "Ah, bitterness is such a terrible curse. I believe that you must forgive Professor Snape for any rudeness that comes as a result of such an affliction. Assuming, of course, it remains at a level that is within reason."

Charlus scowled. He was furious that Dumbledore did not even deny the fact that Snape would be a git to him and was going to do nothing about it. He supposed it was fair if he wasn't letting Snape punish him too unjustly for it and was letting him get away with having the cloak, but it still annoyed him to no end. "I don't understand what you see in him," Charlus said through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore's pleasant smile did not waver. "Nor has your father ever understood," he said calmly. "I trust Professor Snape as much as I trust anybody on this planet. My reasons for such trust are between he and I."

Charlus did not dare push the matter any further.

"You should try and avoid preconceived assumptions, Charlus," Dumbledore warned him. "They are hardly ever productive and can, in fact, often lead to the complete opposite of productivity."

"You're talking about Harry, aren't you?"

"In a sense, I suppose I am. I am merely pointing out that it is foolish to shift your perception of a person so drastically because the colour of their tie is not the one you had expected."

"He was meant to be a Gryffindor," Charlus said in barely more than a whisper. His displeasure at the reality of the situation was marred across his face. "We were supposed to be brothers-"

"And why does Harry being a Slytherin at all stop you from being brothers?"

Charlus paused. "He… he insulted dad, and me, kind of."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Insults are such a petty thing to hold a grudge over, Charlus, especially among family. Why, my brother once accused me of indirect murder. He even broke my nose over the grave of the alleged victim. Today, he still often hurls insults my way, but alas, we are closer now than we have been in nearly a century! For decades, he would not speak with me at all."

Charlus frowned, trying and failing to wrap his head around what his headmaster had just said. "That… doesn't exactly sound like the most functional family, sir."

"Functional? Certainly not! But it is a family nonetheless." Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at Charlus. "I merely brought up the fact, Charlus, to showcase that the bond of brotherhood is capable of withstanding much more than petty insults hurled back and forth at the age of eleven. I shall, in fact, tell you the same thing I told your father on that tragic night nearly ten years ago now... Though thankfully, I shall do so under less tragic circumstances.

"There is little in this world more powerful than love and sacrifice. They are two of the most powerful forms of magic we have or will ever know. The love between two brothers cannot be ignored, and it seems, if what your father has told me via owl is true, that Harry may have sacrificed much in the past ten years for you, my boy, and for the greater good as a whole. Granted, he may not have done so knowingly, but in this case, as opposed to most others, the intent is not nearly as important as the action itself."

"So, you're saying I should forgive him?"

"Why, Charlus, of course I am! On one hand, I fail to see what there is to forgive. On another, my detractors have said for years that I am all too willing to hand out second chances." He smiled conspiratorially at his younger companion. "Between the two of us, for all the holes in my detractors' many arguments, though some are of course true, they at least do an absolutely splendid job of deducing that habit of mine!"

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**A brief note on the pacing of this story. Yes, it is paced quite slowly. That is deliberate on my part. Year one goes much faster after Halloween, but the pieces have to be arranged before they can begin to fall. With that being said, I did warn you already that this fic would easily eclipse one million words. If that is not to your tastes, that is perfectly fine, but please do not leave reviews saying you wish it were moving faster. The pacing is very deliberate on my part.**

**One more note as well on how teachers address male students. It is a rather old fashion custom to address males under the age of eighteen as master. As such, I will be using Flitwick as my cut off point. Any professor younger than Flitwick will almost always address them as Mister, whereas any professor older will frequent the word Master. You may have noticed already that Hurst is an exception to this rule. That is not an accident, and I shall leave it at that.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 12th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl, rawmeat898 and TauNeutrino.**


	7. TFA Ch 6: Adventures & Admissions

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 6: Adventures & Admissions**

* * *

_**September 7, 1991**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**6:21 AM**_

_Dear Father,_

_I won't pretend that I'm going to run into your arms and forgive you for everything you have done. I hold you accountable for most of the bad things that have happened in my life, but I also feel asking for a second chance is not unreasonable._

_I would be willing to meet with you in Hogsmeade during the first trip of the school year. Please get back to me when the trip itself has been confirmed._

_I hope you're not taking me breaking the Potter tradition of landing in Gryffindor too much to heart. Charlus seems quite annoyed by the fact._

_Your son,_

_Harry._

Harry read over his fourth draft of the letter to his Father with a sigh, deciding it was probably the best he was going to get. It was honest, yet still portrayed him in a positive light and even contained some light humour, something that he thought from stories he had heard about his Father and from his Father's last letter that he would enjoy. He thought the letter was passable at the very least and was just standing to leave the common room when a voice spoke from a bit behind him and off to his left.

"And where are you off to at this time of the morning?"

Harry turned, finding himself not nearly as startled by Weitts's sudden appearance as he had been on the first day, even in spite of the way she had embarrassed Flint, who had not returned to the common room until early on Thursday.

"Exploring," he answered honestly. He had read all about the fact that Hogwarts had mysteries upon mysteries to unravel and Harry, eager as always, could not wait to start. At the moment, he just wanted to find an abandoned classroom in which he could practice actual practical magic without being disturbed.

Weitts looked amused. "You really weren't exaggerating when you told me that you were a morning person, were you?"

"No, and you weren't either. You said it would seperate me from the rest of the house. You weren't kidding."

Her lips quirked. "Yes, that is one of the peculiarities of a bunch of children who, for the most part, grew up in luxury." Harry's eye twitched as he tried to suppress a modicum of expressional changes that would all indicate his bitterness about such a statement. If Grace noticed, she didn't comment.

"I guess that makes sense, yes," he answered, keeping his voice neutral.

"I saw you sitting with Greengrass and Davis last night," Weitts commented.

"You seem oddly interested in, and disturbingly open with a random first year who shouldn't be worth your time," Harry noted bluntly, prompting Grace to pause for a moment as if processing his statement before laughing softly.

"You have a very odd manner about you, Potter."

"How so?"

"You are certainly a Slytherin; anybody who knows which qualities to watch for would be able to see that. Even in conversation, you are slick, elusive, and calculating. However, in the same vein, you go on to say things like that. Most wizards in this house would have hinted at such a question or dodged around the topic entirely."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. He believed in cunning for certain, but had no intention of hyperbolizing the trait to fit a certain narrative. "You've hardly acted normal around me yourself." He mentally reviewed his conversations with Weitts. "And you've been pretty open yourself."

"You see what I mean?" she asked rhetorically. "You are certainly cunning, but so different. Just your confidence around me alone separates you from nearly all in your year."

"I don't have any reason to fear you."

Grace's brow quirked. "Were you not as impressed as the rest?"

"Impressed and fearful are two completely different things. You have no reason to attack me, and I'm not dense enough to think I would have a chance at the age of eleven. So unlike Flint, I have no interest in starting something I can't finish."

"As astute as you are different." she commended. "I'll have to get used to your tendency of seeing and stating the obvious as well. It's… refreshing if a bit off-putting." She bowed her head. "Well, I won't stop your explorations. Just be back for curfew and don't get lost."

Quickly, Harry slipped from the common room without saying another word, letter clasped within his hand. He hadn't mentioned that small detail to Weitts, as it was not something that he thought essential for the older Slytherin to know. If truth be told, he was rather surprised that, unless she had seen it while entering the common room prior to their conversation, she hadn't seemed to have spotted the letter at all.

It took him quite a while to reach the owlery. For one thing, he had needed to climb countless sets of stairs and essentially travel to the opposite side of the castle. For another, he had not had the foggiest idea of where he had been going. This time, there were no sheep to follow.

When he finally did reach the owlery, his sharp, green eyes quickly searched the room. It didn't take long for them to fall upon his owl. Ghostly white against the uniform normality of grey and brown. Nemesis looked up and met his eyes, letting out a soft, rather pleased sounding hoot that seemed to be a stark juxtaposition of her name as she swooped gracefully down onto her master's outstretched arm.

"It's good to see you again too," Harry whispered amusedly, scratching her feathers briefly before holding up his letter. "Do you think you're up for a flight? I'm not quite sure how long it is?" The owl hooted once more, though this time, there almost seemed to be a note of challenge if such a thing were at all possible. Harry laughed quietly, tying the letter to Nemesis's leg as he did so before allowing the owl to swoop out of the open window and streak off towards the horizon.

Now that he was alone, Harry began to ponder his options. He had heard, through the tales of older students, that the castle housed many abandoned classrooms that were the perfect place for practice. He intended to find one of these, but he wasn't completely sure where he should look. It was not so much that he was worried about being able to find them. On the contrary, they sounded quite numerous. No, what Harry was more concerned about was finding one where he was unlikely to be interrupted. In his mind, this left him with two obvious options.

The first was to find a room in one of the tallest towers, somewhere people would not want to spend all the time and effort getting to. Through viewing his Uncle and Cousin for ten years, Harry had experienced the peak of human laziness, and he would not be underestimating its power ever again. As such, he had very little doubt that this option was perfectly likely to work, but at the same time, it was terribly inconvenient to have to spend so much time walking from the dungeons to the highest tower on a regular basis if he decided to make this a permanent arrangement.

The other option, one that if the whispers from the older students had been any indicator, was likely the more dangerous and daring option was to explore the dungeons. The Hogwarts dungeons were very vast, stretching far beyond the Slytherin common room. He'd heard that not many, not even within Slytherin House dared to venture into the true depths of the Hogwarts dungeons. Nobody was quite sure what was down there, but Harry had a feeling there may be some rooms that could be serviceable. Privately, he thought the concern over such a trek was quite childish. From a logical perspective, he could hardly imagine that the founders would have put anything in the school that was dangerous. He also did want to explore the castle, so in a sense, this option satisfied two of his most pressing desires.

So, he set off on what was quite a long trek back down to the dungeons, walking straight past the wall that he knew to be the entrance of his common room and continuing his descent downwards. As he went, he noticed that the torches became less numerous, giving him the impression that he was plunging straight into darkness. Corridors were leading in every direction, and Harry privately thought that it may well take him all seven years to explore the castle to its entirety if this was any indicator.

The light was not the only thing that seemed to dwindle as Harry plunged into the belly of the castle. It seemed as if he had left the concept of rooms far behind him, as he simply walked past blank corridor after blank corridor after blank corridor.

Finally, he took a turn that led him down an extremely long, extremely dark corridor. Now, Harry felt as if he were walking down a slope, as the gradient of the floor seemed to be increasing. As Harry continued to walk, he noticed that, though no room seemed to be in any hurry to appear to him, the walls were no longer bare. As a matter of fact, they looked almost familiar. They were, much like the corridor several turns before their common room, decorated with serpentine decor. Briefly, Harry debated the possibility that he had somehow walked back to that place, likely aided by the magic of the castle but he dismissed the idea quickly. For one thing, there were far fewer torches lining the walls in this corridor and for another, though the decor was certainly serpentine, it was different. More… realistic.

Where the corridor far above was clearly the work of a skilful artist, these serpents genuinely appeared to be portraits. As that thought crossed Harry's mind, he paused. For some reason, he had the terribly powerful sense that he had been here before. It was akin to Déjà vu, but it seemed to Harry as if it were a dozen times stronger and more insistent. Something about this place, and not just the decor, mind you, felt… familiar, homely even. He had the odd sense that this feeling had nothing to do with the corridor Merlin only knew how far above.

This was not the only thought that crossed Harry's mind, as when he gazed upon the serpents decorating the corridor, and in particular, when he thought of portraits, several more pieces, and a rather wild, rather unrealistic idea came to him.

By now, Harry had found out that in the magical world, portraits behaved in an odd sort of way. Not only did their occupants move, but in most cases, they even seemed to carry the mannerisms of the person depicted. That was to say, in a pale, half sense of the expression, the portraits were — well… there was no other word for it — alive.

Harry also knew that in this state, the portraits could even speak and communicate with the living. This radical, unrealistic idea of his was not formed here, in this corridor for the first time. Their common room, having been designed by a man who had chosen a snake as his emblem, was positively littered with serpentine markings, paintings, and other forms of decoration.

Harry had, of course, read by now in _Hogwarts, A History_, as well as _Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts_ of Parseltongue. That was to say, the ability to speak to snakes, which, to his great surprise, was not one that was frequently possessed.

He had assumed when first finding out about magic as a whole that his ability to speak with snakes, as discovered for the first time at the London Zoo, was one that was very unique. He had also discovered, unfortunately, that due to both the stigma surrounding Salazar Slytherin and, to a larger extent, Voldemort's reig of terror that Parseltongue was not something that was viewed in an overly positive light. As such, Harry had refrained from revealing this ability and had been perfectly ready not to use it until he found a time to experiment with absolutely nobody around.

He would have liked to give it a try over the summer holiday. However, the Dursleys, despite being quite a bit better in general after Hagrid's visit, did not seem eager to let him leave the house. Not even to perform errands that would have certainly fallen to him before.

Now, alone with countless depictions of snakes that dated back a millennium and gifted with an excuse to speak to them, Harry looked up towards the nearest portrait, focused upon it and spoke, barely noticing that his voice came out as a hiss.

"**Can you hear me?**"

Instantly, the corridor around him came alive. Suddenly, the sound of slithering could be heard in every direction around him. Though he could not see for certain in the oppressive darkness, Harry thought the serpent decorations must have stretched on further down the corridor than he had realized. He could hear serpents slithering from one portrait to another in order to get a look at him. At the same time, Harry's hearing was assaulted by dozens of hisses, all clashing with one another in a cacophony of noise that made one hiss impossible to decipher from the rest. This phenomenon stretched on for almost a minute before one hiss managed to make itself heard above the rest.

"**Silence!**"

Somehow, this hiss sounded more powerful than the rest. It was, if such a thing was possible at all in the language of snakes, a rather authoritative statement. Slowly but surely, all the snakes depicted around Harry fell silent and one of the largest snakes Harry had seen slithered its way into the painting directly in front of him.

A black mamba!

The snake was, contrary to what many may believe by its name, a dark, greyish-brown colour, though its belly was noticeably pale, especially in contrast with the rest of its body. Though Harry could not see inside the creature's mouth at present, he knew that if he could, he would see an odd, inky-black coloured maw. It was, as a matter of fact, the reason the snake had been given its name at all.

The snake surveyed him with dark, black eyes; eyes that were surrounded in a pale, yellow colour. "**You speak?**" the snake hissed. Harry almost jumped when he realized that he was the one being addressed.

"**Not a great question considering I could technically speak English and you'd never understand me, but I know what you're getting at. And yes, I speak."**

Harry could have sworn the snake sneered at him.

"**With a bit too much cheek for my liking, but it does indeed appear that you speak.**" The snake surveyed him more critically, seeming to be sizing him up. If the serpent in front of him was not confined to a portrait, Harry very much doubted he wouldn't have already fled. "**What is your name, human?**"

"**Harry.**" he hissed back, having to put less thought into the language the more he used it. '**Harry Potter.**"

"**Potter, you say?**" hissed back the Mamba. "**We have never spoken to any with** **that name, though it has been many years since we spoke to any at all.**"

"**How long ago?**" Harry asked.

"**Time is difficult, immaterial to portraits, and you humans think about it more than us snakes. I do not know how long it has been, but it has been a long time.**"

"**Can you tell me who the last one was to speak to you?**"

"**She did not give us the first name as you have done,**" the mamba informed him. "**Her surname was unique as well. We had never heard it before her arrival.**"

"**What was it?**"

"**Riddle.**"

At top speed, Harry searched his near infallible memory for the name Riddle. To his surprise, he drew a blank. He had thought that if the ability to speak Parseltongue was genetic, then he would have recognized the surname as one descended from Salazar Slytherin, and perhaps even one of pureblood nobility. In spite of that, he had never heard of the surname Riddle. He didn't think it was even mentioned in _Nature's Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy_. But if she were not descended from Salazar Slytherin, and he was quite sure he would know the name Riddle if she was, then how could she speak to snakes?

'Come to think of it, how can I speak to snakes?'

This thought gave Harry pause.

As far as he knew, the Potters had no relation to Slytherin whatsoever, which should make the ability to communicate with snakes impossible.

Yet here he was.

He supposed that as old as the Potter family was, there could have been an unknown affair or connection somewhere down the line. If that were the case, he would never have known.

It was also possible that perhaps, everyone was wrong. Perhaps, you did not need to possess the blood of Slytherin. It would explain both himself and Riddle in one go, but it also hinged on centuries of wizards all misinterpreting a universally accepted concept.

In other words, he didn't like those odds.

He shook his head, pushing the mystery of Parseltongue and its intricacies to the back of his mind for now. He had more pressing matters to attend to at present.

"**I have never heard that name before,**" he admitted after a longer than normal delay.

"**She could have lied,**" hissed a different snake, bringing forth a very real possibility that Harry had never considered.

_"__**Perhaps,**__"_ the mamba replied, though Harry could detect that the serpent in question was not at all convinced. **"What is it you want from us, human? Very few** **wake us without good reason."**

"**I was actually mainly focused on finding out whether or not I could speak to snakes in portraits. But if you wouldn't mind, are there any abandoned rooms that could be used as practice and study rooms down here?**"

**"If you continue down the corridor past this place and take the next left, there are several small, generic rooms there.**"

"**Thank you,**" Harry hissed back. He made to leave when he heard the definable hiss of the mamba once more.

"**Speaker!**" The snake hesitated for only a second once Harry had turned before hissing one final time. "**Find my brother Custos in your den. I think he would be** **of interest to you.**" The snakes fell silent once more, fading back into their portraits and not making any further sounds at all.

* * *

_**September 7, 1991**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**6:46 PM**_

When Harry had entered the room specified by the Mamba earlier that day, he had found a rather large room that was completely open. For some, the lack of furnishing may have been discouraging, but though it was not ideal, Harry found that it didn't really bother him one way or another. As long as he could practice magic, that was all he needed, at least for now.

And practice he had.

He had worked with mostly Charms and Transfiguration, though he had performed a few of the defence spells that didn't require a target. His Aegis Vocar shield had improved astronomically and by the time the day was done, he was performing magic that they wouldn't even think about until the Easter holidays.

When he finally left the room that night for dinner, it was with the thought of returning the next day to practice once more.

When he entered the Great Hall, he smiled a rather soft smile when he noticed that Daphne and Tracey had saved him a seat. Unfortunately, he was receiving rather scathing looks from the two of them as he easily slid into his chair. It was the look of the former that truly caused his heart to beat just a bit faster.

"Where have you been?" Daphne asked sharply. She did not raise her voice. As a matter of fact, she spoke quite softly, but her voice was laced with danger.

Harry winced. "Practising," he answered.

"That isn't a where, Harry." Daphne pointed out in a poisonous tone.

"An empty classroom," he amended, not really sure if the room he had used had ever been serviced as a classroom. Either way, it was an easy answer, and he didn't want to keep Daphne waiting for those in her current state.

"Where?" she asked, clearly annoyed with him. "We looked all over for you today!"

Harry did not like apologizing. It reminded him painfully of Privet Drive, when he had to do it often because he had been too weak to do anything about it. He was sorry, but he couldn't will himself to say it.

"I didn't really want to be found. I'm sort of an obsessive person. Once I put my mind to something, I don't want anything distracting me from that thing." It wasn't a lie, but it was not the full truth either.

Daphne huffed, but for now, she let the subject fall. Harry thought she did so far too easily, and he was sure that she would pick it up once more in a far less crowded area.

"Well," Tracey asked, sounding a bit nervous, "what did you practice?"

"Charms and Transfiguration, mostly," he said, happy to be answering far safer questions. "I couldn't really practice much defence outside of the Aegis Vocar shield, or I might have done that too."

"So," Tracey asked, leaning forwards, "now that we're… you know — actual friends and everything, how far ahead are you?"

Harry smiled, both at the concept of friends and at the memory of his refusing to answer that exact question. "Depends on the subject. I was casting charms and transfigurations today that I doubt we'll touch on until the Easter break, but I'm not as far ahead in other subjects like Astronomy or Potions."

Tracey's jaw hung agape, and even Daphne nodded appreciatively. After a moment of shock, Tracey asked the question that seemed to be burning a hole through her brain.

"How?"

Harry couldn't help it. he laughed quietly, which only caused Tracey to glare at him. In turn, this caused him to laugh harder, joined in now by Daphne. Laughing was another thing he couldn't claim to he fond of. It had always signified danger at the Dursleys. If he laughed about something or showed amusement, that thing would be taken away.

But he wouldn't let the Dursleys deprive him of this, even if he had no plans of making a habit of it. It was such a natural, light feeling, one that he thought he enjoyed quite a lot.

"What are you two laughing at?" Tracey asked, crossing her arms.

"That look does not suit you," Daphne told her after stifling a giggle behind her hand. "You're way too bubbly to pull off the glare." She smirked evilly. "This is how you glare, Tracey." Daphne's eyes seemed to shoot sparks as she narrowed them at her best friend, causing Tracey to recoil. Harry laughed again, joined in by both Daphne and Tracey this time.

Finally, Daphne gained control. "Seriously though, how are you that far ahead?"

"Magic has always come naturally to me and I have a very good memory." He had used this line on them already, but Daphne chose not to point that out to him.

"How good is very good?" Daphne asked him, eyes narrowing.

He was happy she hadn't asked him about the whole "magic has always come naturally to me thing". He had no way of explaining it — it was just true.

This time, Harry saw no reason to lie to them about it, so he dropped his voice to little more than a whisper. He wasn't sure if this fact could be used against him if it was overheard. He decided not to take any chances. "Near eidetic," he admitted, causing Daphne's eyes to widen and Tracey to look confused.

"Near what? Eider-ick?" she asked.

"Eidetic," Daphne answered. "Somebody with an eidetic memory can remember everything they've ever done, heard or seen in vivid detail."

"Oh," Tracey said smartly.

"How close are you to that?" Daphne asked him, seeming genuinely interested.

"That's hard to say. After the age of three or four, it's all pretty much vivid. I can remember most books cover to cover on my first read, even though the odd one takes a second read depending on how complicated it is." He shrugged, smiling sheepishly as he did so. "The school textbooks are actually simpler than a lot of stuff I read before coming here, so they're not really a problem. I haven't memorized the older years' sections yet for the ones that span multiple years."

"That must be handy!" Tracey noted admiringly.

"It certainly can be," Harry answered, choosing not to remark on the fact that he could remember all the bad things in his life in vivid detail as well. The laughing of a group of young boys, the slamming of a cupboard door, the sound of a belt whipping through the air…

'Mind out of the gutter, Potter.'

"Well," sighed Daphne, looking across the table at him, "care to put that brilliant brain of yours to use tonight?"

"You'll have to be more specific," said Harry, trying not to blush at the description. He noted, as incredible as it may be, that Daphne's comment, sarcastic or not, had probably been the first time he had ever truly been praised by somebody who was not a teacher, at least in such a blunt manner.

"I haven't quite managed the shield Professor Hurst was teaching in defence yet," she admitted. "Nor have I been able to do the full transfiguration. I'm pretty close to that one though."

"Speak for yourself," Tracey muttered.

Harry smiled, feeling the same, odd, warm feeling that had encompassed him when he had first formed his friendship with Daphne wash over him once more. He'd never had friends of any sort before, let alone friends who needed his help with something. It was a good feeling.

"I can try and help with that stuff, yeah," he said with a smile. "No promises though," He warned. "As I said, magic has always come pretty easily for me, so I'm not sure that I'm the best person to try and teach it."

The beaming smiles on both girl's faces made that night of helping the two of them all worth it, and thoughts of more practice were wiped clean from his mind the moment he saw them.

* * *

_**September 8, 1991**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**6:11 AM**_

Harry entered the common room the next morning with his bag slung over his shoulder. He was intent on spending most of another day in the abandoned room practising. He wanted to finish the first year syllabus in at least Charms and Transfiguration, that way he could move onto next year's. There were things about magic that he wanted to explore, but until he had a very strong foundation, that exploration would be impossible. This time, he was planning to hand a note off to a school owl, who would deliver it to Daphne that morning at breakfast. As it happened, it was unnecessary, for when he entered the common room, the voice that Harry associated with the girl in question spoke from an armchair near the fire.

"You really do wake up early, don't you?"

Harry added another tick in his mental chart calculating how many times witches and wizards lurked nearby him in shadows. Seriously, it had to be some sort of trend, or something.

Unphased, he just crooked an eyebrow. Daphne sounded tired, very tired. "And judging by your state, I'm guessing you don't."

"What is that supposed to mean, Potter?" asked Daphne, miming indignance as she stood, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. Even though Harry knew it was a façade, he had to try very hard not to cringe under her stare.

"Nothing."

She smiled at him. "Good answer; you're learning."

"With this brilliant brain of mine," he quoted, "I would like to think I'm a fast learner."

"Yet you were still about to rush off without telling me or Tracey," she accused.

Harry raised both of his hands in placation, tossing her the note he had been holding and causing her to jump in surprise, only just managing to snatch it out of the air. "I was going to send that to you at breakfast via owl, actually."

Daphne folded the note neatly and stuffed it into her pocket. "Maybe you do learn fast." she conceded. "But I still want to talk to you about something."

This was a conversation he had really hoped to put off, if not outright avoid altogether.

"Not here," he told her, his eyes flickering back to the tunnels that led to the dormitories.

Daphne crossed her arms again. "Where then?"

"Somewhere where people can't eavesdrop so easily," he answered, allowing his eyes to flash back to her. After a brief moment of inner debate, he nodded towards the exit. "I know a place; the same spot I practised yesterday, actually. I'll be using it pretty often, I think. I'll take you there if you're not afraid of the deep, dark dungeons."

Daphne sniffed, tilting her head up defiantly. "Lead on," she said a bit snottily, and Harry smiled at her manner as they left the common room and began to make their way down the long path to the room in question. "How long of a walk is it? I have no idea how far down the dungeons lead."

"Nor do I." he admitted. "I'll find out, but that's an adventure for another day. It's a fairly long walk."

"Can we talk on the way then?"

"Sure, I don't suppose why not."

"Yesterday, there were a few things I just found… weird."

"Go on then."

"Well, when I mentioned the fact that you should have let me and Tracey know where you were going," she said, glaring at him briefly to emphasize the point, "you looked as if the thought had never even crossed your mind?"

"It hadn't," he admitted after a brief pause, causing her to blink in surprise.

"What?"

He sighed, closing his eyes, and trying to control his racing heartbeat as he readied himself for what would be, if a half-truth, the most difficult admission of his life.

"Look, Daphne, I don't really want to talk about it if I'm being honest, but I'm not exactly good at this whole friends thing." He drew air quotes around the last two words with his fingers and Daphne just looked all the more confused.

"You act as if you've never had a friend before," she said cautiously.

He closed his eyes one more time, fighting down the sudden impulse to flee.

Harry had a moment of intense, inner debate. Every instinct that had been carefully honed over the past ten years was screaming to keep his mouth shut. Yet there was a persistent part of him that wanted to tell her. A part of him that had stayed silent for so long and yearned to speak at long last.

It weren't just instincts at war. There seemed to be two voices arguing intensely inside of his head. The first was pointing out the very real possibility that this pureblood princess would toss him to the side, that she would look at him as a freak the likes of which she could never relate to. The other voice was arguing that such things were not the impression it got from Daphne and that it was rarely, if ever wrong in regards to other people.

"Harry?" Daphne asked once the pause had stretched on for an unnatural amount of time.

"I haven't," he said softly, trying his best to keep his voice as close to hollow as he could manage.

"What-"

"I haven't," he said, and this time his voice was louder, though he did not do as good of a job at keeping the bitterness and embarrassment from its tones.

"Harry… I..."

"My first two friends are you and Tracey."

He wasn't entirely sure what made him say it. Perhaps ten years of silent suffering had finally broken his restraint. Now, with an actual opportunity to speak on the matter, his mouth seemed to move of its own accord.

There was silence between them for what felt like ages but was really less than a minute. Finally, as the light flowing through the corridor began to dim, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a warm, soft hand take hold of his own. His grip was slack for a moment. He was not a person who enjoyed being touched, not in the slightest. For a moment, he had to fight the rather strong impulse to pull away. After a brief pause, he managed to give Daphne's hand a shaky squeeze, one that she returned more surely, though she did not let his hand fall.

"How?" she asked, her voice softer than Harry had ever heard it before.

"Daphne, I would rather not-"

"Harry, please."

She had come to a stop now, forcing him to do the same as she reached for his other hand. She held onto both of his hands tightly as she held them to her chest, forcing him to face her. At that moment, it was the odd, little things about her that struck him as he tried to think of anything but what he would have to say next. How warm and soft her hands were around his own. The strange, sweet smell of her perfume that he had never noticed before now. The fact that, notwithstanding his fairly average height, she was a couple of inches taller than him. He looked up into her brilliant, sapphire eyes and in spite of himself, despite every bit of his essence screaming that he should say nothing, his next words came out, though they were little more than a whisper.

"My relatives."

"What? Is that why you don't get along with your Brother?"

"Yes, but not in the way you think."

"How then? Explain it to me?"

He sighed in resignation. "I never knew my Brother until The Express, and I've still never met my Father. Well," he added when she gasped in shock, "not since my Mother died, anyway."

"But what… why?"

Harry smiled bitterly up at Daphne. "The truth," he mused, "not always pleasant. The truth is, the reason I'm probably not mentioned in whatever these stories are about my Brother that people keep going on about is that until now, most of the magical world didn't know I existed because… well, I wasn't in the magical world."

"Then, where were you?" asked Daphne, who, even in the dim light of their current corridor, was looking more horror-struck by the second.

"The muggle world. Best I can work out, my Father couldn't handle the pressure of raising the Boy-Who-Lived and his brother, so instead, he shipped me off to live with my Mother's muggle family; my Aunt, Uncle and Cousin."

"And they didn't treat you well, did they?" Daphne asked, her voice hardening as anger seemed to replace her horror. Daphne was, Harry had to admit, as well as annoyingly observant, rather sharp and intelligent. It was only inevitable that she would eventually put two and two together during his tale.

"You could say that, yes."

Her grip on his hands suddenly became vice-like as she stared piercingly into his eyes. "What did they do?" she asked, and her voice was more dangerous than he had heard it thus far.

"Daphne," he protested, not quite ready to take that leap of faith, "not now."

"Harry-"

"Daphne… please."

Please was yet another word he hated uttering. Again, painful memories that in his current mindset decided to press painfully against his mind.

"_Please, Uncle Vernon, I just want a glass of water._"

"_Please, Aunt Petunia, I'm sore and sunburnt and really tired. Can I just come inside?_"

"_Please, Mrs. Hudson, don't write home to my Aunt and Uncle. I swear, it wasn't me. I don't know what happened to your hair._"

"_Please Uncle Vernon — not the belt._"

"...not now… not yet." For the first time since his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry felt his voice shake and waver. Clearly sensing his unease, though Harry doubted that Daphne could understand the irrational panic rising within him, she relented, squeezing his hands gently.

"The only thing you need to know is that my Cousin was the important one, not me. They didn't like magic, and taught my Cousin not to either, even though he never realized what it was." Her grip tightened even more on his hands. "Without going into detail, he was bigger than me, and he liked to make sure I didn't make friends. Most of the school was scared of him, and I couldn't exactly magic myself out of trouble as a six or seven year old."

Not entirely true, but close enough.

He let his statement trail off, they both knew there was no need for him to finish it.

There was a second's pause before, letting his hands gently fall, Daphne reached out slowly. She seemed to search his face for permission as she did so. After a second, she gently pulling him into the first hug he had ever experienced in living memory. At first, he tensed. He could tell that Daphne noticed. She made to release him, an apology on her lips as she assumed the worst. Taking a deep, centring breath before she could do so, Harry took the metaphorical plunge as he wrapped his own arms around her in return.

It took him several seconds to get his heart rate under control, though once he did, he found that the embrace was actually quite nice. However, it still seemed like a foreign concept.

"Thank you," Daphne muttered after several minutes of standing as they were, "that must have been… I didn't even imagine." She stepped back a bit, still holding onto him but creating some more space between them.

Harry looked at her with a rather bitter expression. "You never could have," he reassured her, before becoming more serious once again. "Daphne?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"This does not leave this corridor — ever."

"Harry-"

"Please, Daphne? Maybe someday, I'll either let you tell people, or I'll do it myself. But not now."

"But those muggles," she said darkly. "If the right people knew; my family could-"

"Ruin them? Yes, probably, but I don't care." Daphne made to cut in, but Harry silenced her by taking a firm grip on her hand.

"Daphne, it's like this. It's all I've ever known for as long as I can remember. When you grow up like that..." he shook his head, trying to put his thoughts into words.

"You get used to it, I guess. I don't mean the actions, but the idea… the way you have to think. The truth is, I don't care what happens to my aunt, uncle, or cousin. I learned years ago that they don't matter. When I was really young, I would do things to try and get their attention, their approval." He smiled bitterly once more at the memories. "Eventually, I realized they didn't care, and you know what? They were happy, so I decided to give it a try.

"I stopped caring about them. I didn't care whether they paid attention to me, or whether they approved of what I did. Eventually, that's just how I thought, and now, I could care less about what happens to them. They're unimportant, insignificant. What happens to them doesn't affect me. I don't need to see them punished. The same goes for my Father and Brother. All I need to do is prove to them they were wrong. Prove to the muggles that they picked the wrong child to place their hopes and dreams on. Prove to my Father that abandoning me was the worst choice he could ever make. All I need to do is outshine all of them, and make them all regret not getting in my good books while they had the chance. As long as I can do that, I'll be okay."

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**This scene took place very early in the story. Some of you may say it happened too soon, which is fine, as it is your own opinion. At the end of the day, these are eleven-year-olds, and this is the first time Harry has ever had somebody willing to listen to his problems. I personally don't think it too large a leap to assume he may actually take the opportunity, especially because he gave no specific details away.**

**A note on the pairing. This in no way suggests anything about it. There will be no romance before year three at the earliest. Please do not make assumptions this early, and please do not PM me asking about the pairing. I have received dozens of them and have never given it once. I am happy to answer questions via PM, just not any pertaining to pairings.**

**I will say that it is not slash, nor is it a multi or a harem story. Aside from that, you'll have to wait and see.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 14th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	8. TFA Ch 7: Secrets & Schemes Part I

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 7: Skirmishes, Secrets & Schemes Part I**

* * *

_**September 9, 1991**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:11 AM**_

_Dear Harry,_

_I can't even tell you how relieved and grateful I am to hear that you're willing to give me a chance. I completely understand why you would blame me for everything that's happened, and to be honest, I probably deserve that and worse for being such a neglectful prat._

_Don't worry about Charlus. He had it in his head that you were going to be brothers and best mates right away, and that the two of you would reign over the school in red and gold armour. As long as you're happy, your house doesn't make a huge difference to me, as long as you're not getting in with the wrong kind of Slytherins._

_The first Hogsmeade trip I could meet you on would be on the 11th of October._

_If that works for you, owl me back and I'll contact Professor Dumbledore. If he agrees, (which he will) I'll be sending you a little secret about the castle, so stay tuned!_

_I can't wait to finally see you again!_

_Your Father_

Harry's eyes roamed over the parchment for the fourth time as he tried to decide how he felt about what was sitting in front of him. It was true that he had felt compelled to give his father a chance, but in saying so, that did not mean that Harry forgave his father for everything that had happened. No matter how well the meeting went, Harry had the impression that those wounds cut too deep and there would always, to an extent, be a modicum of tension between the two of them.

"Who's that from?" asked Tracey absentmindedly as she raised a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. She, unlike Daphne, who was eyeing Harry suspiciously, had seemed to miss his change of mood.

"My Father," he answered shortly, stuffing the parchment into the pocket of his robes as he casually returned to the plate of fruit in front of him. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daphne's jaw tighten for the briefest of moments before she turned to him, her voice as calm as ever.

"What did he want?"

"To meet in Hogsmeade."

True to her word, Daphne had not told a soul, not even Tracey about what they had spoken about the previous morning. Harry wouldn't outright lie to Tracey, but he was not quite ready to take that leap of faith again. In truth, he was not even entirely certain why he had taken it the first time. It had just been the perfect moment. Everything had aligned and he had a feeling the euphoria of his first true friendship probably had something to do with it. Besides, he wasn't lying to her, even if it was only a half-truth. It was, as a matter of fact, not at all unusual for an heir to meet up with their head of house in the village while at school. Admittedly, it was quite a bit rarer for those in the first and second year, but even then, Harry very much doubted it was unheard of.

"What do we have today?" Daphne asked him, casually diverting the conversation before Tracey could become too curious, something that Harry appreciated greatly.

"Potions, Charms, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry answered without pause.

"I think I'll work with you today in Potions, Harry," said Daphne. "Since Friday is the double period, I'll rotate between partnering with each of you on that day. Since I partnered with you last Friday, I'll partner with Tracey this Friday."

Harry smiled at her. It was still odd to have somebody helping him at anything. "Sounds fair enough to me," he agreed.

"As long as you help me tonight with Snape's prep!" put in Tracey, causing Harry to smirk and Daphne to roll her eyes.

"We haven't even got to the class yet, Tracey. For all you know, Snape might not even give prep."

"I know all I need to know, Daphne. It's Snape; he's going to give prep."

"I've got to put my chips in Tracey's corner on this one," admitted Harry with a sly smile. Daphne just looked at him, clearly puzzled.

"Put your what in what corner?"

Now Tracey cracked up and Harry too rolled his eyes, though the effect was slightly ruined by the smile he was fighting back. "Chips as in poker?" Daphne still looked as confused as ever. "You know what? Never mind, it's a muggle thing. You pureblooded lot are impossible."

Daphne just stuck her nose up at him. "We'll see who's impossible today in Potions, Potter," she snarked.

Harry's lips twitched. "As we shall see in Charms and Defence, Greengrass."

"I'll have you know that I am far more capable in both of those subjects than you are in Potions."

"In Charms, granted, but only because you're actually quite good at it. As far as Defence goes, I'll agree to disagree, but maybe that's just me." Tracey stifled a giggle as Daphne mock glared at Harry.

"Are you implying incompetence on my part, Potter?" she asked, trying to force as much artificial coolness into her voice as she could manage.

"Not at all, Miss Greengrass," Harry returned in a perfectly pleasant voice; a placid smile pasted upon his face. "I'm just implying your overconfidence and natural self-bias, that's all."

"Be careful, Harry," Tracey warned him through giggles. "You're working with her in Potions. She could easily disguise some explosive mistake as a handy shortcut."

"Unlikely. The pureblood princess would not dare do anything to unsettle her luscious locks."

"Something else is about to be a lot less luscious if you don't shut up very quickly," said Daphne in a poisonously sweet voice. Harry made a show of snapping his mouth shut and sending her a mock, terrified stare but she ignored him. "You're supposed to be on my side, Tracey."

"Yes, but it's so refreshing to see somebody who can actually keep up with you! I can't help it! It's just so much fun!"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You're both impossible."

* * *

It turned out that Daphne did not sabotage their potion that morning, as once again, they handed in a perfectly brewed potion twenty-five minutes ahead of the rest of the class. Snape almost looked exasperated, but as Daphne had been essentially coaching Harry through the process, he could hardly accuse her of doing his work for him.

Not that he would accuse a Slytherin, anyway.

The Charms lesson that followed was, unfortunately, lecture-heavy once more. They had still yet to perform any actual magic within the class. Flitwick did assure them that would be changing during their double period on Wednesday.

Lunch passed without incident and Harry walked with Tracey and Daphne up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Once again, Professor Hurst was seated behind her desk, but this time, she was writing at top speed and did not so much as glance up from the task in front of her until the bell rang, at which point she closed the book that she had been writing in and swept gracefully to her feet.

One thing that distinguished Professor Hurst from the rest of Harry's teachers was that, except for the first lesson, she didn't taken the register. Instead, she had simply allowed her eyes to roam over them. She seemed to work with memory alone before beginning her lesson. Today was no different, as once she saw that everybody was present, she folded her hands in front of her chest and began the lesson.

"Every single one of you regardless of intelligence or ability will know that the title of this course is Defence Against the Dark Arts." They all peered up at her from their seats, clearly flummoxed as to where this could be going. "To understand what I intend to teach you this year, it is important that you understand exactly what this course is and is not going to be teaching you.

"To be more specific, let us examine the title of this course more critically. For the sake of each and every single one of you, I sincerely hope that I do not need to explain the definition of defence, so I am simply going to be moving on to the far more interesting component of the title. What," she asked the class, "are the Dark Arts?"

There was a far longer pause than normal before tentatively, Tracey's hand rose into the air. "Yes, Miss Davis?"

"Magic that the ministry has restricted."

"In a sense, I suppose you're right." Professor Hurst took a long, drawn-out moment to look at each of them, and when she looked at Harry, he had to suppress a shiver from running down his back. "That is half of the answer that the Ministry would like for me to give you. The other half of that answer, if any are curious, is that the dark arts are a vile, evil, and dangerous form of magic. I, however, would like to go a bit deeper. What, according to the Ministry, leads to magic being classified as dark?"

Again, there was a long, drawn-out pause before tentatively, Lillian Moon raised her hand into the air. "Because it can cause harm to a witch or wizard."

"Correct." Despite her affirmation, Harry could tell that Professor Hurst didn't agree with the definition. Come to think of it, neither did he. That was rubbish!

As if she could sense what he was thinking, Professor Hurst's eyes fell upon Harry. "Did you have a question or comment, Master Potter?"

Harry wanted to answer no. He knew that the smart thing to do was to answer no, but under the professor's intense, expectant stare, he found that he could not do it. Idly, he noted that at least nobody in this class was likely to judge him negatively even if he were to openly praise the Dark Arts.

"Well, that is completely ridiculous, isn't?"

The class went dead silent, though Harry noticed that Malfoy was shooting him what he thought was a rather calculating, almost approving look.

"Please explain further, Master Potter."

"Well, almost any kind of magic can technically be harmful. That definition would make almost anybody in the world a wanted criminal."

"Explain further."

"Well, I could damage somebody with basic, first year spells. I could shine the Lumos spell directly in somebody's eyes and cause visual damage. I could hit somebody with a tickling hex while they were at the top of a set of stares and send them tumbling to their death." He shrugged. "I could go on, and on, and on."

"Indeed, you could," Hurst agreed with a small smile. "I am contracted to teach you a curriculum that is approved by the Ministry of Magic, but I fail to see why I cannot present both sides of a long-contested debate as long as I make no attempt to influence your own decisions.

"You see, even the most staunch supporters of the Ministry do not believe in that specification. Many, however, believe that magic created with its primary purpose being to cause harm is dark in nature. The opposition to this way of thinking would say that the Ministry classification, and by extension, this popular ideology is used as a mechanism of control. After all, if one is to set such a broad spectrum for what is and is not dark, then those in power could decide on a case by case basis as they please. The supporters of this idea tend to argue that the Ministry sets a broad definition as a last resort, but really only punishes the most heinous of magic. You could certainly find examples throughout history to support both theories, so neither could be fundamentally proven right or wrong." Her eyes roamed over them again before she spoke, and her voice lowered an octave.

"Some say that this way of thinking is foolish. They believe that magic is a blank canvas for one to paint their intent upon. They say that evil is in the intent. They say that any magic cast with the intent of causing serious harm is dark magic. They would often use defences very similar to the one that Master Potter implored only moments ago. They would, in some extreme cases, even go above and beyond and apply their logic onto the opposite end of the spectrum.

"They would say that, for example, the killing curse, which I shall not speak the incantation of, was originally created to slay cattle and livestock in a quick, painless, convenient manner. History would support their argument, and they would say that the evil in such a curse is its blatant misuse in the hands of those who would wish to abuse it. Of course, there are flaws in this argument too, especially when examining it from a moral standpoint. However, I am not here to teach you lessons in human morality: I am here to teach you lessons in defending yourself against the dark arts.

"No matter which definition you choose to rest your flag atop, the premise remains the same. Dark magic is dangerous and is most often wielded with malicious intent. Only through a sound, strong, steadfast defence can one defend themselves from another who truly wishes to harm them."

She paused then, giving the seemingly dumbstruck class several moments to recover. "Now, I would like you to spend the next hour writing an answer to the question, what, in your eyes, makes magic dark? I would also like for you to provide me with at least three examples, and a sound, detailed defence for at least two of them. After the hour has expired, we shall see which of you have made some progress with the Aegis Vocar shield. If these papers are not done by the end of the lesson today, they will be done at the start of our period together on Thursday."

Harry was reasonably impressed with the progress of some. Theodore Nott had the shield charm essentially mastered, though his variant could not withstand half of what his own could. Daphne too was in a similar spot to Nott, as were Malfoy and Zabini. Tracey and Pansy Parkinson could conjure a weak variant of the shield.

Though Harry had performed well, earning ten points for Slytherin on his own while in the process, his mind was not on the shield charm. Professor Hurst, though full of praise in front of the rest of the class must have noticed, for when the bell rang, her voice rang out as well.

"Master Potter, stay behind please."

"We'll wait for you," Daphne promised, but Harry waved his hand dismissively.

"No, it's fine; go on. I doubt this will take long. I'll meet you both in the common room and we can work on Snape's essay." The two of them left grudgingly, but they left nonetheless, and Harry walked over to and stood in front of Professor Hurst's desk, where she was currently sitting and writing something on a small piece of parchment.

"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I did, though only briefly." She glanced up at him and smiled reassuringly in a way that instantly wiped all worry from his mind. "You are not in trouble, Master Potter, do not worry." She reached for the piece of parchment she had been scribbling on and held it out to him. "I got the impression that you were rather fixated on our discussion from the beginning of the lesson. You are far from the first and you will be far from the last. I can only say so much in my position, but there is a book in the Hogwarts Library that I think will serve you well if you wish to further explore the topic."

"Uh… thank you, professor. What is this?" He asked, taking the offered slip of parchment from her.

"This is a permission slip to retrieve the book in question from the restricted section."

Harry had to try hard not to gape at her. He knew, of course, of the restricted section. He had heard only of sixth and seventh year students who were working on rather complex assignments gaining access. Earlier, he had actually heard a fifth year loudly complaining that Professor McGonagall had refused to grant him a slip.

Harry looked down at his slip and his face blanked for a moment. He knew that, on these slips, a specific book was supposed to be listed. On Harry's however, the only specification was that he was to be able to enter the section. For a second, his mouth opened as he made to correct the professor's mistake, but in mid-thought, he froze and thought better of it. Why would he give this up?

"Is something wrong?"

At that moment, he knew, just knew that for whatever reason Professor Hurst had not made a mistake at all.

"No, nothing at all, Professor."

"Very well, off you go then, Master Potter. I have essays to mark, and I am sure you have some of your own to write."

When he left the classroom and shut the door behind him, only then did Harry notice that on the back of the slip, was a title written in small, elegant handwriting.

_Intent is Power by Emeric Emalaus_

* * *

_**Several hours later, in the Slytherin common room...**_

Harry, Daphne and Tracey all left their first practical lesson in Charms in high spirits. They had gone over two charms that double period. Lumos, the spell used to light one's wand, as well as the colour changing spell. Harry had already known that he would have no issues with these two spells, but there was something inherently satisfying about performing them in a classroom environment. To his delight, both Daphne and Tracey had done well too.

Daphne, to her credit, had completed both of the spells on her first attempt with absolutely no issue. She and Harry were the only two students in the class who could boast of this. Tracey had managed Lumos on her first go, as had most of the class. The colour alteration charm had taken her a few attempts, but she was still the fifth one in the lesson to get it, though Nott had admittedly been right behind her. The only ones to get it faster were Harry, Daphne, Malfoy and Zabini.

Still exalting in the lesson, Harry barely noticed the commotion in the common room until Daphne threw out her arm to stop him, clearly seeing he was spaced out. There was a crowd of people gathered around the notice board, so Harry, Tracey and Daphne crept slowly towards it.

"Stay here," Daphne told them, patting them both mockingly on the heads before going to investigate. As she was the tallest of the three of them, she would therefore have the best odds of seeing over the crowd.

She returned a few minutes later with a rather pensive expression.

"What is it?" asked Tracey, predictably beating Harry to the proverbial punch as she was literally bouncing in anticipation.

"There's a bunch of stuff about Hogsmeade, Gobstones and the rest, but the important thing for us is that tomorrow, we have our first flying lesson with the first year Gryffindors."

At this proclamation, Tracey paled as her eyes widened in surprise, but Harry had feelings for only himself. His heart had leapt into his throat, and he could barely keep the manic smile from making itself present upon his face.

* * *

_**September 12, 1991**_

_**The Grounds of Hogwarts**_

_**3:30 PM**_

"Punctual as ever," Harry muttered as the first year Gryffindors made their approach. With the exception of Hermione Granger, none of them had arrived prior to the entirety of Slytherin's first year being gathered, something that amused Harry greatly. Clearly, Daphne was amused too, as Harry saw her lips twitch, a rarity in public, and Tracey stifled a giggle behind her hand despite herself.

Their instructor, an older, strict looking woman by the name of Madam Hooch promptly told them to stand beside a broom, stick out their right hand, and call "up!"

"Up!" chorused the class, and a handful of brooms shot into outstretched hands. To Harry's delight and mild relief, his broom rocketed into his hand without hesitation. To his mild dismay, so too did Malfoy's.

The boy had been droning on and on in the common room the night before to anyone who would listen about how brilliant he was on a broom. By the end of his rant, he was pretty sure that even the quiet Theodore Nott, who always stood alongside him was about ready to snap. Aside from Malfoy, Charlus's broom had also obeyed him on command, as did Ron Weasley's, which mildly annoyed Harry as he considered the boy incompetent. Daphne's broom had leapt off the ground but had not quite made it all the way into her hand. Harry smirked at her as covertly as he could. She clearly did not fail to notice.

If looks could kill…

Most people's brooms had behaved similarly to Daphne's, though Longbottom's and Granger's seemed particularly uncooperative. Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, Pansy Parkinson quickly snatch hers off of the ground, but he was fairly sure he was the only one to catch her in the act.

Once everyone had, through one means or another, attained a firm grip on their broomstick, Madam Hooch marched around the lines of students, correcting their grips as she went. Harry was mildly proud when her only acknowledgement of him was an approving nod. Both Weasley and his Brother got the same treatment, though Harry could have sung aloud when Draco Malfoy had his grip firmly corrected.

"I have been doing it this way for years!" he drawled in a voice that was surprisingly condescending for an eleven-year-old.

"Well, it's not my fault that you have been doing it wrong for years, Mister Malfoy."

That comment shut Draco up in a hurry.

"Now," she called to the class at large, "when I blow my whistle you will all kick-off, raise slowly into the air and fly a very slow, very controlled lap of the area after hovering until you feel comfortable. On my command. One, two…"

But she never got to three.

Seemingly in a panic, one of the Gryffindors — Longbottom, had kicked off the ground too early, clearly fearful of being left behind.

"Come back here, boy!" Hooch cried up to him, but it was no good. Longbottom's broom was steadily rising faster and faster into the air and Harry could see his grip was sliding. He was doubtful the boy would manage to keep hold of the broomstick for more than a few seconds longer.

Indeed, exactly a few seconds later, his assumption was proven correct. Longbottom finally lost grip on his broomstick and plummeted to the earth like a stone, hitting the ground with a rather sickening crack and promptly bursting into tears.

Harry winced internally for him. He wasn't sure what would be worse; breaking a bone, or crying in public.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch declared upon the completion of her examination. "Come on dear, up you get." She hauled a still teary-eyed Neville Longbottom to his feet, pausing in her exit only long enough to glare at the lot of them and deliver a final, resounding warning. "If any of you so much as think about your feet leaving the ground, you'll be packed and on the train back to London faster than you can say Quidditch!"

Cynically, Harry considered that warning far too cliché to result in anything but complete chaos.

He was proven correct less than a minute later. Once Hooch and Longbottom were out of earshot, Malfoy burst into derisive laughter. "Did you see his face?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle, causing both of them to guffaw as stupidly as ever.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" snapped a pretty girl with long dark hair from Gryffindor. Patil, Parvati Patil was her name.

"Eww, I didn't think you'd be the fat cry-baby type, Parvati!" Pansy mocked the other girl, causing her to blush bright red and quickly retreat.

Harry's eyes narrowed. Though to most, a remark that seemed so childish in nature may have been viewed as such, Harry wasn't quite sure that there had not been a lot more to that exchange than he had thought. The obvious bit was that Parkinson had used Patil's first name, which Harry thought likely meant they knew each other in some way, though it clearly wasn't overly positive. The other and more subtle subtext was Parkinson's timing.

Right as Patil had cut down Malfoy, Parkinson had sliced her down with twice as much fervour. It may have been a step far for Malfoy to have a go at Patil, but for some reason, it just seemed more acceptable for Parkinson to do so. She had read, understood, and reacted to the situation faster than Harry could blink, and opened the door for Malfoy to continue his drama if he chose. Yet it also hadn't closed his out if he still wished to take it.

Perhaps Harry had underestimated Pansy Parkinson.

In his seconds of pondering, Harry had missed Malfoy bending down to retrieve something. When he straightened up, he was grinning broadly, and Harry could see something transparent shining in his fist.

"Look at this!" Malfoy drawled with obvious disdain. "It seems that Longbottom, in his infinite grace, has somehow managed to lose his Remembrall." Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Bullstrode snickered, and Harry could see a smile playing on Theodore Nott's lips.

"Give it here, Malfoy."

The gathered crowd went completely silent as slowly but deliberately, Charlus Potter stepped forward, coming face to face with the slightly taller Malfoy Heir, hand outstretched.

Malfoy just pulled the ball lazily behind his back. "Give it to you, Potter? Why would I do such a thing?"

Charlus gritted his teeth, clearly doing his best to keep a handle on his temper. Harry could see already that it was an exercise in futility. His fingers twitched in anticipation, ready to summon his wand at a moment's notice.

"Because it's an antique family heirloom!" Charlus bit out through still gritted teeth. As he said this, several gears whirred in Harry's mind, and his eyes sharpened as his mind debated the pros, cons, and potential methods for a quickly forming plan.

"Why Potter," simpered Malfoy, "I wouldn't dream of damaging something so prestigious. All I want to do is help Longbottom out a little bit. I'm sure he would improve on a broomstick if he had — proper motivation."

"Give. It. Here!"

"Maybe if I were to..oh, I don't know — put it in a tree?"

"Malfoy-"

"I don't think that would be in your best interest, Malfoy."

Everybody turned in shock to the Slytherin side of the clearing, many sets of wide, surprised eyes falling upon the small, raven-haired boy who had spoken. Daphne elbowed him in the ribs, subtly indicating he was making a mistake. He knew as well as she did that it was an unwritten rule within Slytherin House that they were not to oppose one another in the open. Alas, rules, particularly unwritten ones, had their loopholes.

Malfoy shot Harry a look that was half calculating and half 'what the hell do you think you're doing' before, slowly, carefully, he spoke. "And why, Competent Potter, would that be?" Harry saw Charlus flush red and though he did not want to admit it, he had to verbally give a point to Malfoy for the use of Snape's method of differentiating the two twins.

"Come off it, Malfoy. We've all seen Longbottom's, how did you put it — infinite grace? If you move the Remembrall, no matter your intentions… well, I think both of us can see how that would end. I doubt that Augusta Longbottom would be pleased if her family heirloom were to be damaged."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and Harry was fairly certain that he knew there was more at play than what he was seeing, but Harry also knew that he realized he had been trapped. "Fine," Malfoy said, shrugging his shoulders with the air of somebody who was not overly bothered. "I will take it upon myself and House Malfoy to assure that the heirloom in question is returned."

"Not a chance, Malfoy," Charlus cut in coldly, holding out his hand once more. "You're no ally of house Longbottom, and you'll probably lose the thing the first chance you get. I'll take the Remembrall to Neville."

Malfoy sneered. "If you really care about Longbottom's Remembrall, Potter, you probably shouldn't trust somebody with the mannerisms of a blasting curse to bring it to him," Malfoy smirked. "Even if that person is you."

"Give. It. Here!" Charlus demanded, and his voice grew in volume.

"No, I don't think I-" but Malfoy was cut off as he was forced to throw himself to the side as pandemonium broke out.

Charlus's wand had shot into his hand in the blink of an eye, and the boil hex he sent hurtling at Malfoy was only just dodged. Chaos ensued as Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas all drew their wands and took aim at Malfoy while Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, and the two gorillas aimed at the Gryffindors.

Within moments, there was a four aside duel on the grounds. Well, sort ofCrabbe and Goyle were completely inept so they might as well have counted for a half each. Parkinson was surprisingly competent, and Nott was clearly the best in the field. Crabbe and Goyle didn't last long before stumbling backwards under spell-fire, but Nott seemed perfectly capable of keeping Thomas and Finnigan on the defensive. And in short order, Weasley had cried out as he fell to Parkinson, rather nasty burns now covering his face. Pansy's mocking laughter and the sound of spell-fire from Nott and the Gryffindors were cut off a moment later by a loud scream from Hermione Granger.

The class turned, including the duelling combatants and all froze as one, as Charlus Potter chased Draco Malfoy into the sky while the latter held what appeared to be the former's wand in his hand.

'Shouldn't have got distracted by your friend's problems, little brother,' Harry thought as finally, he felt the small glass ball slam into his palm. Wandless summoning of the object had been much harder this time, as he had not actually been able to see where it was.

By the time he looked up to watch Malfoy and his brother, the skirmish was all but over. Malfoy hurled Charlus's wand at the ground, causing the other boy to dive after it at terminal velocity and make what even Harry had to admit was an absolutely miraculous catch. Charlus's ecstasy and Malfoy's dismay lasted approximately three seconds.

"CHARLUS POTTER!"

'Well, this day just got a lot more interesting.'

* * *

_**About an hour later, in the Hospital Wing...**_

Harry had found himself rather inspired by the duel he had witnessed earlier that day. After making a point of telling Daphne and Tracey where he was going, if admittedly not what he was doing, Harry slipped out of the Slytherin common room with the library in mind as a final destination.

The library may have been his final destination, but it was not his first.

As he entered the Hospital Wing, a place that was almost comically white in colour, Harry spotted a middle-aged woman whom he assumed to be the matron.

"Excuse me," he asked politely, prompting her to turn around and look at him, "would it be at all possible to see Neville Longbottom? I don't need long, I promise. He lost something during his fall, and I want to make sure he gets it back." Harry smiled his most winning, most charming smile up at the woman whom he could just tell was rather stern.

He was quickly learning that, aside from magic, there really was not a whole lot that separated wizards and witches from muggles in many ways. This was one of them. For most people caught unaware in either the magical or mundane world, an innocent smile as disarming as the one that Harry had mastered was a fantastic way of getting what you wanted.

"Oh, of course, dear. He won't be here much longer anyway, so I suppose there's no harm." Madam Pomfrey, as he had been told her name was by the woman herself moments later led Harry to a bed with drawn curtains. She told him that Neville was inside before bustling off in the other direction. Keeping his face blank but making sure his hands were empty and clearly displayed, Harry pushed aside the curtain and slid through.

"Good afternoon, Heir Longbottom."

The boy in question, who was reading what appeared to be a book of some sort on magical plants flinched horribly upon hearing Harry's voice. Harry suspected that had he been standing and able to jump, he may very well have put his head through the ceiling. When Longbottom's eyes found him, he only paled further and when he spoke his voice came out in a hurried stammer.

"H-H-Heir P-P-Potter?"

Harry smiled that same, disarming smile, watching as Neville's nerves visibly settled, if only a little bit. "Calm down, Longbottom," Harry assured him easily. "I have no plans that involve me cursing you and it would be a shame if I was implicated in your sudden death via panic-induced heart attack."

Harry saw the corners of Longbottom's lips twitch, but he still seemed too nervous to smile properly. "W-why did you come then?" Longbottom asked, still clearly wary of the first year Slytherin.

In response, Harry reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew the small, glass Remembrall he had managed to summon to himself during the class. "I'll be frank, Longbottom. I have absolutely no idea what a Remembrall is or what it does, but I heard that this one, in particular, is a rare family heirloom of yours, and thought it only right that it was returned to you."

Neville looked shell shocked as slowly, with a visible pinch of hesitation, he reached out, seeming to believe it was some sort of trap until the last second when his hand closed protectively around the Remembrall and brought it back into his chest.

"Thank you," Longbottom breathed out in little more than a whisper, seeming to be as surprised as he was relieved.

Harry shrugged casually. "No need to thank me for being a decent human being. I'm sure that some of your friends would have brought it to you if I hadn't."

Harry watched Longbottom deflate. It was a rather painful seed to plant in the boy's head, especially as it struck far too close to home for Harry, but in the end, concessions had to be made.

"I don't have any friends," Neville said meekly, and Harry's face promptly slid to an expression of moderately horrified skepticism.

"Come off it, Longbottom. I'm sure that you must be exaggerating?"

Neville just shook his head miserably. "No offence, Potter," he said bitterly, "but if I had real friends, not just people who said they were my friends, I doubt it would be a Slytherin bringing me the Remembrall."

Briefly, Harry wondered whether Charlus genuinely considered Longbottom a friend or whether he just wanted to stick it to Malfoy where it hurt. He did not ponder this for long, as he shoved the thought ruthlessly from his mind.

"Well," Harry said softly, stepping closer and biting back his impulses in order to lay what he hoped was a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "There are always better friends out there. You just have to know where to look."

* * *

_**Some time later, in the Great Hall...**_

After he had spent a couple of hours in the library reading up on a variety of hexes and curses that he thought would be useful and mentally noting the ones he thought doable at his current level, Harry made his way into the Great Hall for a quick, late dinner. Upon arriving, he smiled, noticing that, as was now becoming customary, Daphne and Tracey had saved him a seat. His smile wavered a second later, however, when he noticed that both Daphne and Parkinson, who had apparently chosen to sit with the two girls over Malfoy were not looking at him. Even more of a red flag to Harry was Tracey, who was glancing rather nervously between the three of them.

He sat down and didn't even bother reaching for utensils. Instead, he peered from Daphne, to Tracey, to Parkinson and had to try very hard to resist the urge to look past their eyes. In the case of Daphne and Tracey, he thought it likely quite immoral on his part to violate their minds and as for Parkinson, well… Harry had never quite figured out why he had been shoved so forcefully from Charlotte's and Snape's thoughts and he had not yet discounted the possibility that this ability of his only extended to muggles.

"Is somebody going to explain to me why the three of you are suddenly looking at me as if I'm a ticking time bomb that is going to go off at any moment?"

"A what?" asked Parkinson, baffled.

Harry pressed his hands to his temples and pulled a face. "Never mind… it's a muggle thing, but that's not important right now. Let me rephrase that. Are any of you going to tell me what has happened while I was in the library that you are so certain will draw a negative reaction from me?"

Tracey blushed and looked down. Daphne and Parkinson did not look at one another, though Harry could tell they were having an internal discussion of sorts and again, the thought to try and look past Parkinson's eyes was so very tempting.

"Well," Parkinson began, clearly having lost whatever battle she had partaken in with Daphne, "I hope, for your sake, you could have guessed that everyone was wondering what would happen to your brother?" Harry nodded. "Well, I have it on rather good authority — and keep your mouth shut about it, Potter, or I'll have the whole of the seventh year against you in an instant, that your brother's fate has been decided."

"Ah," said Harry, nodding along slowly, noting Parkinson's threat as he realized why they thought he was going to explode, "he's been expelled then?" he asked conversationally, trying to ponder all the ways this could complicate his position.

Parkinson exchanged a final look with Daphne before, in spite of herself, she smiled as she leant forwards. "No, actually, he's been made the Gryffindor seeker."

All of Harry's pondering stopped in that one, exact instant as his mind simply blanked, failing to register what Parkinson had just said. For the first time in public since his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry's mask cracked. His jaw hung slack for several, long seconds as his eyes practically bulged out of his head.

"I think I broke him," Pansy said jovially with a giggle, seeming remarkably unbothered.

Harry took several long seconds to process this before he slammed his head against the table, hard, pressing his hands hard into his temples for reasons that had nothing to do with a headache.

"So you mean to tell me," he hissed to the three of them in a low, dangerous voice, "that Charlus Potter, the famed Boy-Who-Lived broke… I don't even know how many school rules, defied direct orders from a teacher, was caught in the act and was REWARDED by being given the one thing he probably wanted above anything else?" The three girls nodded cautiously, and Harry slammed his head against the table again, ignoring Daphne's reprimand, which was made half for his decorum, half for his health.

"What the fuck is wrong with this school?" he asked nobody in particular. "What kind of school lets somebody get away with that just because they're famous?" He pressed his hands to his temples once more. "Why do I even bother?" He rounded on Parkinson. "And let me guess? You, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle have detention while the defenceless Gryffindors only lost points?"

"Close," Parkinson admitted moodily. "Crabbe and Goyle lost ten points each; same with the lions, and Theodore and I have detention with McGonagall this Saturday."

"GAH!" Harry exclaimed, pressing so hard on his temples he was sure he would compress his own skull. "What. The. Fuck is wrong with this school?"

He didn't really care that the rather colourful language he was employing was not standard for an eleven-year-old. Vernon Dursley had been a rather crass individual and Harry had heard plenty of his rants growing up. So what if he had taken after some of his more colourful language in a rather rare situation that he never thought he would find himself in?

Suddenly not in the mood for food anymore, Harry swept to his feet and made to leave the hall. He was swiftly followed closely by Daphne and Tracey, who were both probably concerned for his sanity, and Parkinson, who, if he was going to do anything stupid, probably wanted to be there to see it. As he was walking past the red and gold table, he heard a familiar, drawling voice ring out through the hall.

"I could take you any day on my own just fine, Potter."

Harry should not turn, he knew he should not turn, but despite himself, he stopped and turned, subconsciously drifting closer to the place where Draco Malfoy was arguing with his brother.

"I hear a lot of talk and don't see a lot of action, Malfoy!" sniped back Charlus.

Malfoy sneered. "Fine then, Potter, have it your way. Tonight, me and you in the trophy room; a wizard's duel. If, of course, you're wizard enough for it."

"Of course he is!" Ron Weasley spat furiously. "He could trounce you any day, Malfoy. I'm his second! Who's yours?"

For a second, Malfoy pondered the thought as he glanced from Crabbe to Goyle, and then, coincidentally, his eyes fell on Harry.

"Competent Potter," he answered in the most superior, most ridiculously victorious voice Harry could imagine.

'You have got to be kidding me! This day will never end!'

Charlus sneered at Harry in obvious dislike. "My brother might be a git, just like the rest of you idiots in Slytherin, but he won't second you in a duel against his own brother." Charlus turned to Harry, scowling in a very Uncle Vernon like way as he asked, "Will you?" with as much bitterness and resentment as he could muster.

On one hand, Harry could not outright deny Malfoy's plea for help, even though he knew full well Malfoy: A, was using Harry in order to trap him in a terrible position, paying Harry back in a sense for how he had done the same to him earlier; and B, even knowing that Malfoy had absolutely no intentions of showing up to that duel. If he turned Malfoy down, he was showing not only an obvious break in house unity, but he was doing so to the benefit of a Gryffindor, and the Boy-Who-Lived to boot, family or not. To do so would be akin to high treason and political suicide. At best, he would be an outcast, at worst… well, he would quickly find out uses of the worst curses that were not strictly illegal

On the other hand, Harry could hardly second Malfoy against his own brother. Not only would it shatter any bit of obligatory cordiality Harry and Charlus still shared, but it would absolutely set his brother, and possibly even his father against him.

'Think, Potter, think.'

There was no way out of this one. House or blood? Friends or family?

Unless…

Harry glared at Charlus. "I won't second my housemate against the git of a brother who turned on me the moment I was sorted? The brother who has turned his entire house since the sorting? The brother that has everything handed to him by everybody because they all think, just like he does, that he's so special?" Harry did his best to imitate Malfoy's sneer. "Whatever gives you that impression, little brother?"

Charlus's jaw fell open as his face flushed scarlet. "You bloody wanker!" Weasley bellowed at Harry, but he didn't even react, he just kept his face blank.

Now, for stage two.

"Come off it, Weasley. I wouldn't call anybody anything when you're the idiot of a pureblood who doesn't even know his rights within a wizard's duel."

All of a sudden, Malfoy's expression went from positively smug and jovial to mildly concerned. Harry saw him shake his head forcefully in his peripheral vision, but he pretended not to notice.

"Shut up, snake!" spat Ron. "I know more about magic and duelling than you do!"

"Do you, Weasley?" Harry drawled in the most condescending tone he could muster. "if that's true, why have you not specified the time and place of the duel? You're the challenged party, it's your right?"

The only reason Harry knew this at all was because it was in his book on the Wizengamot and its politics. Apparently, honour duels used to be fairly common, so the book detailed their rules quite thoroughly.

Harry heard Malfoy curse behind him and froze, a look of mock horror on his face as he shot an exaggerated look of guilt and terror towards Malfoy. "Oh, oops; I wasn't supposed to tell him that, was I?"

As Malfoy shot him a withering glare that promised the most hellacious retribution the world could offer, Harry merely shot him a very brief, but very pleasant smile, and the other boy did not miss the mischief in his eyes.

* * *

_**Later that night, in the Trophy Room...**_

With Harry's intervention, the duel between Charlus and Malfoy was set to take place at 9:00 that evening in the Trophy Room. This would put the duel an hour before curfew, making the benefit for Malfoy to no show negligible at best. After a cold, quiet walk where Harry nor Malfoy said a word to one another, the two of them stepped into the Trophy Room, where Ron and Charlus were already waiting for them.

Idly, Harry thought that if Malfoy brought half the anger he clearly harboured towards him into this duel, he might just do what the Dark Lady failed to accomplish almost a decade earlier.

Malfoy had said nothing, but the withering, vengeful glares he had shot Harry all evening had been indicative enough of what the blond Slytherin thought of his raven-haired counterpart. All in all, Harry had to congratulate himself on a job well done. Now, there was only one more step to his plan.

It was a risk to piss off Malfoy as much as he was right now, but Harry thought it worth it. Though Malfoy technically had not done anything to Harry, that only made it the perfect time to strike while his enemy was least expecting it. If he could get Malfoy caught out of bounds duelling the Boy-Who-Lived in his second week of Hogwarts, preferably a bit worse for wear as well, he would shred the blond's credibility and political standing in Slytherin, even in spite of his name.

There was also the fact that the blond was just generally a git.

"Oh wow, you actually showed up," Charlus commented with mock surprise, looking for all the world as if Christmas had come early. Malfoy's jaw was set. To a casual observer, he looked confident, if a bit miffed. To Harry, he looked twitchy, uncertain and very much like a person who was completely and totally surrounded.

Still, Harry had to give credit where credit was due. Even now, easily the most flustered Harry had ever seen him, Malfoy managed his typical sneer with trademarked perfection. "I'm not afraid of you, Potter," he drawled, shooting a look over his shoulder to Harry that clearly said "either of you"

"Can we get this started already?" Charlus asked, his wand snapping into his hand as he smiled predatorily at Malfoy.

Harry almost facepalmed. The idiot hadn't even had his wand ready!

In response, Malfoy's wand flew from his sleeve and he lunged forward, sending a rather painful variant of a boil hex straight towards Charlus's face. Charlus simply rolled to the side, coming perfectly up to his feet with his wand outstretched, returning fire with a leg locker curse. Harry had to admit, for all of his Brother's flaws, he was clearly good at this, and Harry had a distinct impression that this duel would likely not last long.

He just needed a few minutes.

"Tarantallegra!" Malfoy returned fire, causing Charlus to leap to the side. Unfortunately for Charlus and a lot more fortunately for both Harry and Malfoy, if admittedly for very different reasons, Charlus managed to slam into an ancient-looking plaque in the process. The collision off-put his balance and sent the plaque in question to the floor with a resounding CRASH!

More fortunately for Charlus, he appeared, if perhaps only in battle, a quick thinker.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The trinket in question, as well as those in the surrounding area, flew into the air before pelting themselves towards Malfoy, who dove to the side in a panic. Quickly, Malfoy found himself buried under a number of trophies, and suddenly, Harry heard what the others did not, as they were too focused on their own battles.

Quick, distant footsteps, getting closer by the second.

Without drawing his wand, Harry focused on one of the trophies behind Charlus and with a loud CLANG, it slammed hard into the boy's collarbone, sending him stumbling forwards and breaking his concentration.

Ron drew his wand and aimed it at Harry, but he merely held up his still empty hands. In the second's pause, however, it seemed that Charlus and Ron had caught on to the oncoming footsteps.

"Let's split!" Charlus cried in a panic, regaining his footing and making for the door on the opposite side of the room. Harry cursed, wandlessly hurling several trophies into his path. He found himself tiring fast. It was extremely difficult to do this kind of magic without a wand and he could barely maintain control of the paths of the objects he was sending in the boy's path, let alone keep doing so. To the boy's credit, there was not so much as a pause in his charge towards the door. Harry allowed Ron to follow after him on the pretence of helping Malfoy, and, as quietly as he could, took aim at their backs and whispered a single incantation twice.

"Petrificus Totalus."

Ron Weasley went rigid as a board as Harry went leaping over him. Regrettably, the spell meant for his Brother had missed, and he could no longer curse him without it being obvious. Instead, he simply marvelled at the general, if not complete success of his plan as he vaguely heard a snide voice ring out from the room that was now left far behind him.

* * *

Severus Snape's eyes sharpened as he stared down at the youngest Weasley, who was completely and utterly bound. He would have likely smirked in satisfaction had one of his snakes not too been left laying in this room, face down and appearing to be unconscious, a large, distinct lump forming upon his skull.

Snape knew all too well that there was far more at play here than what lay in front of him, but he could hardly prove it. Draco would not have wasted his time on a Weasley, but perhaps, a close acquaintance. Snape could have cursed aloud at the missed opportunity that had been the probable incrimination of Charlus Potter, but he did not. As a matter of fact, his face stayed completely impassive, even as he thought he was piecing the situation together rather well.

If Draco had come to duel Potter, and evidently Weasley had shown as well, they must have agreed on seconds. Draco had trusted the wrong second, as whoever it had been, they had seemingly fled at the first sign of danger at the latest. Snape wondered whom he had used. He would have assumed Nott, or perhaps if Draco was more inept than Snape thought him, Crabbe or Goyle. Now, he knew that Draco had elected for none of those options. None of those three would have likely dared betray him.

Who would Draco bring to a duel with the Boy-Who-Lived that might betray him?

A seemingly impossible, but oh so plausible thought crossed Severus Snape's mind and though Weasley mercifully did not see it from his spot on the floor, his eyes actually did widen, if only for a second. Somebody whom Malfoy would have brought to spite the Potter brat, who also would have had motivations to leave that letter underneath his office door. Somebody who clearly wasn't on great terms with either side.

Snape just shook his head, hardly daring to believe the thought that, a month ago, would have been akin to the implosion of reality in terms of likelihood in his own mind.

It appeared to Severus Snape as though his own preconceptions have betrayed him.

* * *

_**Later, in the Gryffindor dorms...**_

It was a long time before a pale, exhausted, shocked and shaky Charlus Potter was able to muster up the brainpower or the courage to pen out the letter that now sat completed in front of him. He stared down at it, hardly believing the contents himself. As he read it over one final time, he felt an odd tremor run up his spine.

He very much doubted that his nightmares were pertain to the death of his mother tonight.

_Dad,_

_I know I should have never been there and how I got there really isn't important, but I stumbled into that corridor I told you about today while running from Filch, or Snape, or someone — I'm not really sure who._

_Anyway, what the hell is going on?_

_What the hell is Professor Dumbledore playing at keeping that three-headed-dog in the school, and what is he hiding under that trap door? I know you talk a lot with him, and I promise, I won't tell anyone, but I'm seriously freaking out right now and feel like my head is going to explode!_

_I mean, even I can tell that this seems like a terrible idea!_

_Write back soon,_

_Charlus_

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Next, another look into the mind of Lord James Potter, the inevitable backlash of a hastily constructed plan that did not quite go off without a hitch, and an impromptu lesson in the intricacies of magic from our favourite Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 17th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898. **


	9. TFA Ch 8: Secrets & Schemes Part II

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 8: Skirmishes, Secrets & Schemes Par II**

* * *

_**September 13th, 1991**_

_**Potter Manor**_

_**8:34 AM**_

"So," said Peter as he and James sipped their morning teas, sitting on the balcony that overlooked the long, sweeping fields at the back of the manor, "I assume they've been running you into the ground since the break-in too? Judging by the fact we've barely spoken in the last month and a half."

"Yup," said James through a sigh as he leant back, stretching his arms luxuriously and looking completely at ease. At that moment, Peter was reminded almost painfully of days spent out at the lake with James, Remus and Sirius at Hogwarts.

'Simpler days,' he thought, fighting down the impulse to allow a rather sad variant of a smile from creeping onto his face.

"It seems like it's quieting down on my end," Peter informed James, more than a little bit thankful for the fact.

James nodded. "Not quite for me yet, but I think it's heading in that direction. If it were anyone other than Moody running the Aurors, we'd have given up two weeks ago."

"I see we're of one mind then."

"Depends," James drawled with a roll of his eyes, "if your mind is screaming that this is all useless and that if we would have found whoever broke in, we'd have done it weeks ago, then yup, sounds like it."

Peter smirked. "How long do you think old Mad-Eye will hang onto that job anyway?"

"Hard to say, really. He could retire any time he wanted at this point. He's made more than enough galleons to set him up for his life between his salary, his pension, and his bonuses from the war." James shook his head. "Merlin only knows when he'll finally call it quits. The old dog is a nutter. Brilliant, mind you, but completely off his rocker."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you," Peter chided James lightly. "Whatever you say about Moody, he's a true Slytherin." Peter's lips twitched. "Well, actually, he's the most exaggerated version of a Slytherin you can find in terms of paranoia, but you get my point."

"You think it's an act?" James asked, having never considered the fact.

"Oh no, definitely not an act, but probably exaggerated a bit. I have no doubt he really is more paranoid than any other wizard alive; he would have to be to put some of those Death Eaters in Azkaban. All I'm saying is that if everybody thinks old Moody is out to lunch, it'll only make things easier for him if anyone gives him trouble." he shrugged. "Just food for thought."

In most cases, James would have said that such a thing, putting on an act of madness to take your opponents off guard, seemed way too paranoid and over the top. But when he really thought about it, that actually sounded exactly like the kind of thing Mad-Eye would come up with.

As James was thinking this, he spotted the family's eagle owl, Hermes, flying towards them on the open balcony. James moved his cup of tea to the side, allowing the owl room to land and stick out his leg. James waved his wand, causing a few owl treats to appear before smoothly taking the letter from its leg and making to read it. At that moment, James Potter was immensely relieved that he did not have any scolding liquids in his mouth as his eyes widened and his jaw fell open.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," James muttered, pressing his hands to his temples in a show of great annoyance and frustration.

"What is it?" Peter asked cautiously, knowing that such a reaction from James could have realistically been elicited by any number of things.

"Charlus," James sighed, suddenly looking about ten years older than he really was. "I figured the tike would get himself into a fair bit of trouble, but seriously, his dumb luck and mischievous streak have already topped everything we did at Hogwarts in terms of danger." Upon seeing Peter's sceptical look, James smiled abashedly despite himself, lost in nostalgia. "Ok, ok, maybe except anything involving Snivelus, I guess."

"Surely it can't be that bad?" Peter asked a bit nervously. James just scowled, handing over the letter and allowing Peter to read it quickly before his jaw too nearly fell open. "A Cerberus? How on earth did that boy end up in a room with that beast? A better question, what the hell is a Cerberus doing at Hogwarts in the first place?" James winced. "Classified information?" asked Peter, assuming James was under oath.

"Not exactly," James admitted. "It's not Ministry business, at least not technically, but I can't tell you any more than that."

So, he was under an oath. James had never really kept anything from Peter before, so he had no reason to believe that he would do so now.

"Noted," Peter said neutrally, mentally connecting the dots in his mind. Whatever had been the desired prize of the would-be Gringotts robbers had been in James's family vault at the time, though of course, that information had not, and would not be made public. If James knew about something valuable hidden at Hogwarts, something that was not strictly ministry business…

'_I wonder..._'

* * *

_**September 13th, 1991**_

_**The Hospital Wing**_

_**9:41 AM**_

Draco's livid and border-line murderous mood had been mildly improved when the school's matron had mercifully allowed him an escape from the hospital wing. That mood, however, remained improved for all of five seconds before, upon his exit, he saw the cloaked form of his Head of House waiting for him.

"Professor?" Draco asked with a lot less politeness than he would have twenty-four hours earlier. In his mind, the fact that Snape had blabbed about his involvement in the trophy room to the Headmaster, or at least, the man himself had said he would be doing so, was akin to high treason in Draco's moral code.

"Mind your tone, Draco," Snape said in a low, dangerous voice. If it had been anybody but a Slytherin, and a prominent one at that, Snape likely would have put them through the metaphorical ringer for such a disrespectful tone. Draco got off lightly, though Snape's voice spoke a warning obvious enough for even the most bold-headed of Gryffindors to pick up on.

That was your one warning.

"Come," said Snape, whirling on the spot and sweeping away from Draco, leaving him to follow moodily after the Potions Master.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded in a slightly more polite, though obviously still annoyed tone, "Sir," he added hastily.

"The Headmaster has interrogated Weasley and wishes to speak to you," Snape answered shortly. "I take it that I do not need to explain to you the level of foolishness you have displayed in finding yourself in this position?"

"It wasn't my fault! It's all Potter's fault!"

Snape's lip curled. "I think you will have a hard time convincing the Headmaster of that fact."

"But you believe me, professor?"

"My belief is not important nor relevant to the situation at hand. Listen to me, Draco. I do not think you understand the severity of what has happened! The Headmaster very rarely hosts personal audiences. Even less so in the case of those regarding disciplinary action."

His grey eyes widened in sudden terror. "He-he can't expel me, can he?"

Snape did not answer at once, choosing instead to silently ponder for a few long moments. "I suspect that will depend on events that I have not been made privy to," he answered carefully. "You have broken a number of school rules and were caught irrevocably red-handed. The Headmaster is usually rather lenient, but if he has pieced together as much as I suspect," Snape paused, seeming to be deciding on how best to say something, "I dare say that Ronald Weasley's part in the night's events will be... negligible."

Before Draco could entirely piece together what that meant, Professor Snape stopped in front of a rather handsome, rather old looking gargoyle statue: its majesty was promptly ruined to Draco when his head of house drawled in a rather exasperated sounding voice. "Lemon sherbert."

Malfoy quickly made his way up the moving, spiral staircase after his Head of House. Before Snape could so much as knock, Draco heard a soft, calm voice call them inside from behind the door. Snape, with the briefest, closest to imperceptible sneer one would imagine, pushed the door open.

Draco had been nervous before now, a feeling that had only been exacerbated when his Head of House had spoken, implicitly, granted, about expulsion. But now, when he saw that the room was not occupied by only the Headmaster, fear swelled drastically within him. This was because his eyes widened upon a man whom he feared more than he did Albus Dumbledore.

"Father?"

* * *

_**At the same moment, in the Transfiguration classroom...**_

Ron sidled into their first period Transfiguration with less than forty minutes remaining in the lesson itself. When he moved towards the desk where Charlus was seated, he noticed the other boy's deep, hazel eyes focus upon him intently.

"How'd it go?" Charlus asked immediately, prompting Ron to sigh in resignation.

"A week of detention with Filch and thirty points," he grumbled.

Charlus winced. "That's harsh."

Ron shrugged. "Could've been worse." He smiled rather viciously in a way that was very out of character for him. "Malfoy might not have it as easy."

Charlus smiled briefly but immediately became more serious. "What about Harry?"

Ron rolled his eyes, doing his best to hide his annoyance with his best friend. "No, I didn't tell Dumbledore that he was with Malfoy. Why you care what happens to the git, I don't know. He picked Malfoy over you, for Merlin's sake!"

Charlus did not speak for several seconds. "I told you why last night." He settled on. "And… I don't know… I think there was more going on with him and Malfoy than we realized, to be honest."

* * *

_**The night previous, in the Hospital Wing...**_

Ron had been jump-scared rather badly when he was forcibly shaken awake in the middle of the night by his best mate. If that had not been enough, he learned that, not only did said best mate know an uber-powerful privacy spell, but he had an invisibility cloak — a real invisibility cloak. He hadn't expected his shock at such a revelation to be rivalled for some time, but he was proven wrong just minutes later when Charlus made his true intent for sneaking into the hospital wing known.

"Listen, Ron. If you get interrogated tomorrow, whether it's Snape, or McGonagall, or even Dumbledore, I need you to promise me something, ok?"

Ron frowned. "You don't need to worry." he dismissed. "I'm obviously not gonna rat you out."

"I wasn't talking about that, Ron, but yeah, thanks."

Ron blinked. "What then?"

Charlus leaned forward. "I wasn't the only one to get away with it, you know. I need you to promise not to tell anyone that Harry was there."

Ron's jaw fell agape. "No way am I helping that git!"

"Ron," Charlus said tiredly, "he's my Brother. You should know what that feels like."

Ron scowled. "Yeah, but my brothers wouldn't have backed up Malfoy against me."

Charlus paused, seeming to ponder something before slowly, hesitantly, he spoke. "I don't think he really backed Malfoy." Ron looked aghast, but Charlus continued. "No, seriously, think about it! He told us that we got to pick the time and place. If he hadn't, Malfoy could have led us into a trap or something. He could have easily hexed me from behind when we were duelling, but he didn't."

Ron sat silent for several minutes before speaking again. "Even if that's true, which I don't think it is, why do you care? He was there; he should get in trouble!"

Charlus sighed. "I know," he admitted. "But… well… it's complicated. But I just want us to be a family. Come on, mate, surely you can at least understand that?"

Privately, Charlus thought that if his father knew that Harry had seconded Malfoy in their duel, that rift would be torn forever, but he did not tell Ron this. He didn't lie though; he really did just want a family.

Ron sighed in annoyance but looked pointedly back at Charlus. "Fine," he conceded, "fine, okay, I'll keep Harry's name out of it. But you owe me for this one."

* * *

_**In the present, back in the Headmaster's office...**_

"Draco," Lucius returned in a voice that carried no trace of emotion. It was nearly impossible for Draco to read his father's mood at the best of times, but at present, it was completely out of the question.

"Good morning, Master Malfoy," said the other man in the room. Without even looking over, Draco recognized the man's voice as the same that had admitted him and his Head of House. Draco nodded to Dumbledore in acknowledgement as the man peered over his interwoven fingers towards Snape. "Thank you for bringing Mister Malfoy to us, Severus. You may go."

Snape nodded sharply, turning on his heel and making his prompt exit from the room, leaving Draco alone with the leaders of the Liberals and the Conservatives, respectively.

Draco could not help but note that on any other occasion, this would likely be a spectacle the likes of which he would enjoy watching. Unfortunately, his magical education hung in the balance during said meeting, so he had a feeling it would be far less amusing.

"First and foremost," Dumbledore asked, "how are you feeling this morning, Master Malfoy? I gathered from the documentation of last night's little adventure that you had suffered quite a nasty concussion."

"I'm fine," Draco answered shortly. If he were going to be expelled, he would not give the old man the satisfaction of rendering him to a stuttering mess.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I'm glad," he said genuinely before, all at once, his face hardened. Draco braced himself for whatever might come next. "Now, to business." He leaned forward slightly, not unlinking his fingers as he gazed towards him. Draco had enough sense to heed his father's warnings from before the year began to not meet Dumbledore's or Snape's eyes, even though the man had never explained why.

"Last night, Master Malfoy, you were caught out of your dorms duelling Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor. Do you deny that this duel took place?" Draco hesitated but shook his head. He knew all too well that a check of his wand from a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore would essentially prove the fact.

"Master Malfoy, I do not think I need to inform you of how far out of line these actions are."

"Are you going to expel me then?" Draco asked, half scared, half defiant. Lucius shot him a sharp glance that clearly screamed: "keep your mouth shut".

Dumbledore simply appraised him. "For duelling out of bounds? No, I am not. On any other occasion, such an offence, though very wrong for certain, would not have landed you in front of me as you are now." He sighed. "The problem, Master Malfoy, is not so much the duel itself, as it is the collateral damage that it caused.

"You see, the problem is the room which you chose as your arena for the duel. That room is, as I am sure you are acutely aware, full of trinkets that have withstood the test of time. Some of these trophies are far beyond relics, remarkable as said relics may be. They are a treasured part of our school's history and thus extremely valuable.

"Upon interviewing Master Weasley, I learned that he, at the very least, was not at all responsible for the destruction of the trophies and plaques that were lost last night."

"I didn't!" Draco argued, wide-eyed. "I never broke any of those trophies!"

"Oh?"

Draco hesitated. He could sell out Potter, but something instinctively told him that such a thing was a dangerous course of action.

Lucius jumped on his hesitation.

"If you would be so kind, Headmaster, I think it prudent that I speak with my son. I would not want him making any… damaging decisions in the long term without fully understanding the severity of the situation."

Dumbledore smiled, but Draco could tell it was strained. "Of course, Lucius. It is your right as his Father, after all, and the precise reason you were called in for this occasion." Lucius nodded sharply, took hold of Draco's arm, dragged him to his feet and walked him out the door and down the spiral staircase. He paused just short of stepping back into the corridor. He withdrew his wand, gave it a quick twitch. As he stowed it away once more, he turning back to his son and heir.

"We shall not be overheard," he said with some satisfaction. "Now, without the needless detail, who was in the trophy room with you last night?"

"Weasley and the Potter twins,"

"Ah, yes, the Boy-Who-Lived and the enigma that is his brother, of course. Well then, I suppose the question should be why you allowed yourself to be cornered into a situation where you were outnumbered three to one?"

"I didn't. Harry Potter was my second. I did it to annoy the other Potter, but it backfired. I wasn't going to show up. I was just going to say it was at midnight and no-show, but Harry Potter mocked Weasley and ended up subtly telling him that as the challenged party, it was their right to pick the time and place."

Lucius's face did not change. "How… interesting," he observed. "Well, that simply will not do," he muttered. "Dumbledore will find a way to get his golden boy out of the line of fire, and I suspect that the same would be true for his brother." Lucius thought for a minute. "Tell me, who else does the youngest Weasley boy spend his time with?"

Malfoy shrugged. "There's a Finnigan boy."

"That will suffice for Weasley's second," Lucius decided, a glint in his eye as he leaned forwards. "Now tell me, who are all of your year's housemates, Draco?"

"Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, Greengrass, Nott, Moon, Zabini, Potter and Davis."

"Davis?" Lucius asked with narrowed eyes. "How very peculiar. I do not recognize the surname, Davis. Tell me, Draco, why would you ever use an unnamed mudblood as your second?"

Draco looked incredulous for a second before, slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face as he realized what his father was planning.

'A friend of Potter's, too. How perfect.'

* * *

_**About an hour later, in the Slytherin common room...**_

Harry had been mildly baffled when Tracey had been pulled out of the common room by Snape that morning. At the time, both him and Daphne had shrugged it off, but when the girl did not return after ten or so minutes, an irrational feeling of dread settled upon them.

This feeling of dread welled into an outright panic just as Harry and Daphne were making to leave for Defence. The common room entrance slid open, and Tracey sprinted through the room, off to the left down the passage to the dorms and out of sight. There were obvious tears streaming down her cheeks. Without hesitation, Daphne got up to follow her. For his part, Harry made to stand too, but Daphne shot him a look that clearly suggested it was better if he didn't join her. Five minutes later, Daphne returned looking positively sick and livid, two emotions that would never have slipped through her mask on normal occasions.

"What happened?" Harry asked at once, casting the Muffliato charm a second after speaking.

"What happened is that Tracey has detention every Saturday and Sunday until the Christmas break with Filch, and she just lost us fifty points for something she didn't do!"

Harry paled as he quickly scanned the room, making sure nobody was coming within range of the boundary of his privacy spell. As he looked, one face stood out, one that had not been there when he himself had returned from the trophy room the night before. Malfoy's face was, for the most part, blank. What gave him away was the glint in his eyes, one that he failed to mask. Harry could see the internal smirk.

That was when it clicked.

"I'll kill him!" he hissed, moving to flick his wand into his holster. Before he could, Daphne's hand closed around his wrist in a vice-like grip. He tried to pull free, but her grip strength was shocking. He supposed that was what one got when they handled Potions tools and ingredients often for years. "Daphne," he snarled, his eyes glowing with ethereal green light, "Let. Me. Go!"

"No!" she hissed back, shifting her position so she could look him in the eye. "Harry, you have to calm down. You can't openly attack Malfoy in the common room in front of everybody!"

"Watch me."

When looking back upon this memory in the future, Harry would be eternally grateful for both the grip strength Daphne had developed from brewing potions since the age of seven as well as her incomprehensible mental restraint. That was something he wouldn't come to understand until months later.

"Harry, I need you to breathe. Think about everything that would go wrong if you attacked Malfoy right now. Trust me, we will get him, both of us. Just not now, not here." Harry hesitated, not quite able to conquer his anger but also not quite able to curb his rationality. Daphne took that hesitation to sling both of their bags over her shoulder and drag Harry out of the room.

Harry likely would have made a mad dash back to the common room if not for Daphne's firm, insistent grip upon his wrist. It was not until they reached the corridor leading to their next lesson, Defence Against the Dark Arts, that he gained enough self-control to confidently assure Daphne that he would not do anything stupid during defence.

Despite it being his favourite subject, Harry spent most of the lecture spaced out, positively boiling with fury and plotting all the horrible ways in which he could strike back against Malfoy. There was another feeling too, one that Harry was not familiar enough with to identify, but what he would later learn was guilt.

It had been his plan that backfired.

It had seemed like such a good plan. Malfoy had been throwing subtle jabs his way since the beginning of term and it was rather obvious that he had a place with some of the older students. Hell, the first night, after the sorting, he had even tried to cripple any political foundation Harry might build by implying his relative unimportance.

With that in mind, Harry was sure that sooner or later, Draco would try to make a power play to establish himself at the top of the first year pecking order. Harry simply could not let that happen.

For one thing, if he had to put up with Draco making blunt remarks about Tracey's blood status while the entire year supported him, he would likely become a murderer at the age of eleven. For another, Malfoy seriously rubbed him the wrong way. He was not Slytherin enough to lead a year. It was as if he had taken all the stereotypical traits associated with Slytherin house and turned them all up to eleven whilst forgetting what truly defined the house of cunning and ambition. Paranoid as it might be, Harry had the distinct impression that if Malfoy seized control of the first year hierarchy, it would not be pleasant for Harry within Slytherin. Being the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived seemed enough for Malfoy to hate him on principle.

If it were just Malfoy, Harry wouldn't have worried. He could trounce the boy with an arm tied behind his back. With that being said, his older associates were problematic.

So, it had seemed rather easy. Malfoy had presented Harry with a perfect opportunity to cripple his political aspirations within Slytherin House. If he set Malfoy up as the idiot who had lost fifty points or more over a Weasley and hopefully got a bit banged up in the process, then much of the house, hopefully including his older associates, would lose respect for him. Unfortunately, now Harry knew that Malfoy's part in the duel, though not swept under the rug, per se, would be forgotten within Slytherin house. It would be an afterthought after "the mudblood that had lost them fifty points during her second week of Hogwarts".

It was infuriating.

"...Now," snapped Professor Hurst, "almost all of you have shown some proficiency with the Aegis Vocar shield by this point. You will now be divided into partners and take turns casting spells at one another while the other uses their shield to absorb the spell. Only easily reversed jinxes are to be used. For those of you who have not demonstrated competency with the shield, you will be working on your own to master it.

"Now, Miss Greengrass with Miss Parkinson and Miss Moon. My apologies for the uneven grouping, but based on your numbers, it was inevitable. Master Zabini with Master Malfoy. Masters Crabbe and Goyle and Miss Bulstrode, work on your own to surmount the spell, and Master Potter..." When she turned to look at Harry, she paused for the shortest of moments. It was brief enough that in his distracted state, Harry didn't even catch it. "You will be partnering with Master Nott."

Harry got to his feet as his heart rate sped up. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as Theodore Nott stood across from him.

One of Malfoy's friends.

Nott sneered arrogantly and hatefully at Harry, who returned the gesture with fervour. He didn't know Nott, but from what he had gathered, the boy was a bigoted idiot. Harry thought him the perfect outlet for his anger.

"Miss Greengrass, Master Zabini, and Master Nott, you will be shielding first." Nott looked most unpleased with that arrangement, but he obediently held his wand in a defensive position as he prepared to cast, a rather cruel glint still in his eye.

'Oh, you have no idea what is about to happen.'

In retrospect, neither did Harry.

"You will begin on three, two, one!"

"Aegis Vocar!" cried Nott.

Harry raised his wand and Nott, if not for his own admirable self-control would have flinched. Harry's eyes were glowing once more. It was not obvious, but if one was looking, they could see the increase in that pale, emerald light behind his eyes. As Harry's wand came up and aimed at Nott, the air around him seemed to crackle as Harry thought he felt the pressure in his ears change an instant before he released his spell.

"Furnunculus!"

The jet of red light positively whistled from Harry's wand and closed the distance between him and Nott with unnatural speed, causing the air around it to crackle. Nott's eyes widened a moment before the spell, (which should have been easily deflected by an attempt far weaker than Nott's) ripped straight through his shield and struck him full in the chest. The spell sent him sprawling to the floor as he yelled out in pain.

Through his haze of anger, Harry had enough cognitive thought left to realize that the boil hex was not supposed to send its victim sprawling.

Instead of simply creating a boil on the point of impact, the spell seemed to have a larger effect. Boils were popping up all over Nott's body, all spreading outwards from the original point of impact. He was positively screaming in pain. The boy tried the counter curse twice, but nothing happened. Meanwhile, Harry was too busy seeing red to do much of anything, but before he could raise his wand again, another voice cut through his haze.

"Finite Incantatem!"

It was one of the first times Harry had ever heard Professor Hurst speak aloud when casting magic, and her voice was strong and loud. The air around Theodore seemed to cool as he stopped his screaming, resorting to quiet moans as he buried his face into the floor, doing an admittedly stellar job of hiding his tears.

"Cease your actions at once!" Professor Hurst called out needlessly. The class had all frozen and stared wide-eyed at Theodore on the floor. She glanced briefly at Harry before looking towards Malfoy and Zabini. "Master Malfoy, take Master Nott to the hospital wing at once. The rest of you, minus Master Potter, are excused. Go!"

Harry had never heard his professor speak in such a harsh voice before, but its effect was instantaneous on the rest of the class. When all had left but the two of them, she fired a spell off towards the door. It was of pure black energy which caused an odd distortion in the air after slamming into the aforementioned exit. A sort of hazy blue barrier seemed to take form on their side, but Harry couldn't even muster the thought to be curious. Then, she whirled on Harry, and he had just enough brainpower to realize what she was about to do. He raised his own wand at once.

"Dolor!"

Much like his hex had moments earlier, hers travelled unnaturally fast. Unlike Nott's shield, Harry's hastily conjured Aegis Vocar held, if barely.

He snarled, side-stepping and turning his wand on his professor. Normally, Harry would never dream of doing something so incredibly bold and idiotic, but for one thing, he was not thinking in his usual frame of mind. Another thing, she had just tried to curse him, so a claim of self-defence would more than hold up in a court of law.

"Furnunculus!"

She didn't bother with a shield, she simply flicked her wand, sending Harry's grossly overpowered boil hex rocketing away from the both of them.

"Come now, Potter. I am not an eleven-year-old pureblood brat. You will have to do better."

"Mobiliarbus, Flipendo, Petrificus Totalus!"

"Better," she drawled as she easily and infuriatingly knocked all of Harry's spells aside with no effort. "Merely disappointing, no longer pathetic."

Harry snarled and launched spell after spell at her. His casting was rather repetitive since his arsenal was quite limited, but he didn't care. He simply threw everything at her, egged on by her mocking as he went. This went on for what, to Harry, felt like no time at all, but what was really nearly ten minutes. Finally, as his attempt at a full-body bind sparked out. Harry fell to his knees, allowing his wand to clatter to the floor as he sagged with exhaustion.

He breathed heavily, noticing the sounds of footsteps coming closer. He looked up through eyes that barely stayed open and saw, to his confusion, Professor Hurst offering him a hand up. Cautiously, he took it and was pulled to his feet.

"Now that you have performed all the venting you could have possibly yearned for," she said, dropping her mocking charade at once, "do you care to tell me why you were so irrationally furious that you, my best first year defence student, failed to control a simple boil hex?"

He didn't feel like he had the energy to speak, but after literally using all of his pent up emotion in every spell, Harry could honestly say that he could think clearly once more. He was still livid, but he was also ashamed of his lack of self-control.

"I… don't think I can, Professor. There are things involved that I would rather the staff not know about."

The professor appraised him for several long moments before nodding. "Very well, Master Potter. In the future, you will exhibit better self-control."

"Yes ma'am," said a legitimately ashamed Harry. "I'm sorry, ma'am." He paused. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"What happened when I cast Furnunculus at Nott? I've never heard of that happening before."

There was a moment where they were silent, and Harry was certain that the professor would not answer him. That only lasted a couple of seconds, as with a calculating look in place, Professor Hurst answered with a question of her own.

"Tell me, how did you feel when you cast the spell towards Master Nott and what, in vague terms, were you thinking about while casting?"

"I was furious," he admitted quietly. "I was thinking of the reason why I was furious."

"Is this what you think of when you cast hexes such as the boil hex in most circumstances?"

"No."

"What is it that you normally keep in mind?"

"The desired intent of the spell."

"Ah, and there it is — intent." She looked vaguely disappointed. "I see you have not yet taken up my reading recommendation. You will have a summary of the first chapter on my desk by Monday as punishment for your outburst." She sighed. "But before you ask, yes, I shall explain.

"Keeping with the example of Furnunculus, when you cast the hex on a normal occasion, your mind is focused solely on the intent you desire, that being for the spell to take on its rudimentary form. This state of concentration is possible because, when casting, you are focusing on the intent and not your emotions, which leads to the latter being unable to warp the former. Today, however, in your rage, you allowed your thoughts to be consumed with anger. There is something that is never taught to you at Hogwarts, and why this is so I shall never understand but here it is.

"Magic is extremely complex and even sentient. It is not simply a matter of waving one's wand and muttering words. The reason that intent is so important in regards to magic is that the magic needs a catalyst, something to allow it to take form. It does this through your intent. But as you found out today, intent is a rather vague word that can be interpreted in a number of different ways. With your lack of self-control today, as well as no true visualization, the magic simply manifested by using your anger as its catalyst. Revenge is intent, and though such intent would lead to utter failure in transfiguration when dealing with a hex or a curse, it can have rather drastic effects."

Harry nodded. It all made sense to him, even though it all sounded ridiculously complicated. "Professor," he asked carefully, "If I wanted to overpower spells like Furnunculus in a duel, could I focus on bad memories or strong, negative emotions? Would that actually work?"

For the first time during their conversation, the professor allowed a small smile to grace her lips. "That is the student I have come to know, Master Potter. See that it is the student who attends my class from here on out. The short answer is yes, but it is not that simple. For one, focusing on anger or negative emotions when casting, especially if one's mind is unorganized and free of control can cause their magic to become quite volatile, as you saw today. Casting off of sheer emotion is also more magically draining than to cast off of a more guided form of intent."

"Is there a better way of doing it, then?"

"Intent, Master Potter. Magic is not fuelled by wand movements or even incantations, but intent. A master of magic, few as they are, does not need incantations. They simply wave their wand and will magic to obey them. Though few ever reach this kind of control, it is a show of intent's power. Most spells do have predetermined limits, so their effectiveness is not infinitely malleable, but there is some leeway there." She paused. "There is a categorization of magic known as esoteric magic that does utilize emotions, but I believe this branch may be beyond your level at this time."

"So more clear intent and visualisation is still the best way to manipulate magic, but emotions do work?"

"Indeed."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said sincerely. "I'll make sure to have the essay for you by Monday."

* * *

_**September 14, 1991**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:06 AM**_

Harry had, as usual, woken up early and fled the common room before the sun had truly risen. Instead of sneaking off to his favourite abandoned room to practice magic as he normally would be doing, Harry decided to trek up to the library. It turned out that the librarian, Madam Pince, was already there despite the early hour. Harry seriously wondered if she just slept behind her desk. Judging by her rather strict looking countenance, he thought asking that question may not be in his best interests. When he flashed her the slip, she was beyond sceptical. After looking it over for several minutes, she reluctantly conceded. She gave him a long, dry safety talk. After said talk had been complete, she finally allowed him to enter the Restricted Section. She did make him wear earmuffs and dragon-hide gloves, which he personally thought was a bit much, but he wasn't complaining..

It took Harry some time to find the book that the professor had recommended. The tome itself was not terribly long, though it appeared positively ancient. Harry made to leave but hesitated.

He was here. He would be foolish to not take advantage of the resource suddenly and irrationally at his disposal.

There were so many books that piqued his interest. Harry had to unfortunately admit, they were mostly all above his current level. After some deliberation, he settled on a few safer looking ones. His selection consisted of three books. _On the Offensive: a Guide in the Basics of Striking First and Last, 50 Non-Lethal, Must Know Curses to Win a Duel_ and, _Most Potente Potions_. The latter was likely unnecessary. He was friends with a genuine potions prodigy, after all. However, Harry disliked the idea of having to rely on Daphne. If nothing else, storing some rather… interesting potions in his memory bank probably was not a bad idea.

That thought prompted a frown. He still had those vials of Longbottom's botched potion from their first day; the one that had led to rather painful results when absorbed through the skin. Harry could dump it over Malfoy in the blond's sleep. It would be entertaining, but he thought it more apt for a lesser offence. He would have to come up with something more… damaging, and preferably more far-reaching in retaliation for his ploy against Tracey.

By the time Harry had returned to the common room and stowed his new trophies away in his trunk, he still had some time before breakfast, so he set off to do what he had been meaning to do for almost two weeks now — explore.

He stuck to the area nearest his common room for now. He thought it would probably be the most useful to him. As breakfast was nearing, Harry assumed he had struck out in terms of his day's expeditions.

Then he saw it.

He was in the dungeons, only a corridor and a bit away from his common room when he noticed. The corridor that housed all the serpentine decor, not the one far below, but the one that Harry, and seemingly all of Slytherin seemed to think was there for the sole purpose of serving as a diversion for the entrance to their common room.

'I wonder.'

He checked to make sure he was alone before he turned back to the snakes.

**"Uh…** **open?"**

He had no idea why "open" came to him, but there was something… he was not sure how to describe it… nudging him? There just seemed to be a part of his mind that knew that was the right thing to say.

One of the snakes curled into the form of a handle, which quickly protruded out of the portrait. Harry's eyes widened as he took hold of the handle and opened the door. It led to an extremely dark passageway that was quite narrow. It was comfortable for one person, but he doubted he could have managed to walk side by side with anybody else. He closed the door behind him and made his way up the passageway, climbing a set of stairs when he reached them and coming up on a blank wall that appeared to be a dead end.

Harry wasn't fooled.

He felt around for a moment, thinking how it would be far more convenient not to need Parseltongue on this end and promptly found a handle. This one seemed to have been there already. Harry opened it and slid out of the passage. He exited in a very small alcove underneath the marble staircase that, upon further investigation, was pretty much impossible to see from outside of it if one was not looking. Even if they were, Harry thought, spotting it would be a task. He also noticed that there was indeed an actual door handle on this side.

When he sidled into the Great Hall for breakfast, he noticed that, to his relief, Daphne had managed to coax Tracey out to breakfast.

"Morning," he greeted the two girls as he took his customary seat. "How are you feeling?" he asked Tracey.

She sighed. "Better, I guess. I mean… as Daphne put it, what is fifty points and a bunch of detentions in the long run?" Harry nodded. It was true. He knew also that her life within Slytherin House had just become a lot more interesting. Now, she was no longer just the nobody and suspected halfblood or muggleborn. She was now that, plus "that girl who cost us 50 points and was going to let the Malfoy Heir take the fall." Harry didn't say this though. He knew, in spite of her over the top, bubbly personality, that Tracey was nothing if not intelligent. He didn't need to point out the obvious to her.

Malfoy would pay in time, regardless.

The morning post chose that moment to make its arrival, and for the third time in the school year, Harry had some. This time, it was not the now-familiar eagle owl of the Potters. It was a dignified, pristine-looking owl. He couldn't identify the exact species. Attached to its leg was a small, simple letter. Harry noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a small smile cross Daphne's face. He quickly deduced that, if nothing else, it probably wasn't dangerous. Not to him, at least.

"Care to explain?" he asked, causing her to look at him in annoyance.

"Care to read?" she snarked back.

"Don't encourage him, Daphne," said Tracey, a bit of her normal self shining through her veil of gloom. "If you tell him to read any more, we'll never see him again."

Harry ignored them both, choosing instead to open and read the letter, the contents of which made his eyes widen.

_Heir Potter,_

_I must admit that I am rather surprised by what I have heard of you third hand thus far. I imagine that most of the magical world shares this sentiment, but I find myself most interested in meeting you._

_The Greengrass heiress has spoken quite highly of you to my daughter via letters, and her praise is not an easy one to gain. _

_With this, as well as your future political standing in mind, it is a pleasure for both myself and the rest of my family to extend to you an invitation to our Samhain event on the 31st of October, which shall start at 8:00 PM._

_Whether you accept or, if for some reason you are forced to decline the invitation, please send a response back no later than the 20th of October._

_We await your response and hope for your presence._

_Regards,_

_Sigmund Weitts_

_Regent of House Weitts_

'Huh? I was not expecting that.'

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Well, here it is; the newest update to the ongoing schemes within Slytherin House, as well as some other important setup and background.**

**Next chapter will feature the meeting with James, as well as yet another familiar face. It will also feature Harry's first Halloween at Hogwarts.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 21st, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898. **


	10. TFA Ch 9: Samhain Part I

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 9: Samhain Part I**

* * *

_**September 20, 1991**_

_**The Third Floor**_

_**11:13 PM**_

"Coast clear?"

"Yup, the nearest person is Snape, and he's a floor up and nowhere near a staircase."

"And the cat?"

"Sixth floor."

"Perfect, showtime!"

The Weasley twins stepped out from behind the tapestry that concealed them, peering at the locked door that led to the forbidden third floor corridor with unmasked curiosity.

"What do you reckon?" Fred asked his twin.

"Probably warded to the teeth."

"They really should've worked something into the map that would reveal wards."

George shrugged. "No idea if that's even possible, but it would have been quite magnificent, wouldn't it?"

"Quite indeed."

They crept a bit closer and paused. "I don't feel anything, at least," George muttered.

"Either means there are no wards, or the people who put them up are just way out of our league."

"I would sincerely hope that whoever put up wards is out of our league. I doubt a proximity ward tied with some stinging hexes would do a whole lot."

"Too true, brother dear."

They looked at each other, a wicked gleam mirrored in both sets of eyes.

Carefully, Fred reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a rather ordinary muggle tennis ball. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, rolling it forward. It bounced off of the door and didn't seem to set anything off.

"So," said George with a grin, "either there are no wards, or the people who put them up were smart enough to only queue them to humans."

"Nah," dismissed Fred with narrowed eyes, "I doubt it. That would've left loopholes. People could've got in those muggle picture things that dad's always going on about."

"Yeah, but I doubt any of the staff except for Burbage knows about those."

"Come off it; you know it was just the first example I could come up with. There would be other loopholes too."

"Good point."

With one last glance at one another, they seemed to hold their breaths as one as carefully, slowly, they crept up to the door.

Nothing happened.

"They're having a laugh!" Fred hissed in disbelief. "Nothing? No wards at all?"

"Maybe some seventh year broke them?"

"Nah. If there's something so dangerous here, you figure they'd make it a bit harder than that!"

"Guess we'll find out."

Slowly, they both withdrew their wands and took aim at the handle, incanting in perfect unison.

"Alohomora!"

The lock clicked.

"This has to be the best prank of all time!" Fred mused, still baffled. "I mean, if it's this easy, there's clearly nothing dangerous-" but his voice trailed off as the door opened and they caught sight of the hulking shape of a monstrous three-headed… something that was laying on a trap door.

"Fuck!"

As they relocked the door and sprinted in the opposite direction, both twins were thinking the same thing.

'What the hell are they playing at?'

* * *

_**September 23, 1991**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:11 AM**_

_Harry,_

_Professor Dumbledore has agreed to let you out of the castle for the Hogsmeade trip on the 11th of October (told you!). You could always just ride the carriages with the other students if you fancy a dull, normal first trip into the village. Or, if you want to spice things up a little bit, you could always find the statue of the one-eyed, humpbacked witch halfway down the third floor corridor nearest the grand staircase, tap its hump, say Dissendium, and meet a friend of mine._

_Just food for thought._

_Hope your classes are going well. Charlus said Snape's as much a git as ever, and that Binns is still useless, but he hasn't really complained aside from that._

_See you soon,_

_Your Father_

"This is the first time you've read one of his letters and actually looked interested," said Daphne, nodding to the owl whom she could now recognize without issue as belonging to the Potters.

He nodded. "See for yourself," he said, handing her the letter to read.

Daphne nodded slowly upon the completion of the letter before, after getting a nod of confirmation from Harry, she passed it to Tracey, who actually gasped. "It does seem interesting," Daphne admitted. "Are you going to use it?"

"I think I might go have a look before the eleventh, but if it does really just lead me straight into Hogsmeade, then of course I'm going to use it."

Whatever Harry felt about his father, and what he felt, even he wasn't quite sure, he was not above using useful information that came from the man, nor would he ever be.

Harry had taken a sort of interest in the secret passages of the school after finding the one that led from the dungeons to underneath the grand staircase. He had, upon further speaking with the snake on the dungeon side, realized that he did not actually need to risk using Parseltongue at all. As a speaker, the snake had let him choose a new password. He had decided to go with "escape", as that was how he viewed the castle at large.

Harry had spent a fair bit of time wandering the halls of Hogwarts in an effort to find more passages like the one he had found in the dungeons. Daphne and Tracey were really not up for this practice, so Harry had mostly gone alone. He'd actually been mildly successful.

He had found a staircase that served as a shortcut between the second and fourth floors, hidden behind a tapestry on either side. He'd also found the passageway that Grace had taken him down that first night. It was hidden behind a frozen portrait in the antechamber off the Great Hall and would slide away when tapped with a wand. From there, it too would lead down to the dungeons, though not quite as close to the common room as the first Harry had discovered. Where that one would lead Harry to about a corridor off of the common room, the other passage would take him just to the bottom of the stairs leading down into the dungeons. Still useful, nonetheless.

"Don't we get to go to the village at some point?" Tracey asked, clearly excited by the prospect.

"In our third year," Daphne answered, focusing her eyes on Harry. "You had best be careful exploring the castle. If you're not careful, some of us may catch up to you in class."

Harry smirked. "Ah, Daphne, I hate to break it to you, but the only person you're convincing of that fact is yourself."

For all the time that Harry had spent wandering the castle in the last week and a half, he had spent double that amount of time practising. He'd read the book that Professor Hurst had recommended cover to cover, and he had to say, he agreed with its principles. _There is no such thing as light and dark, or good and evil,_ had been the book's thesis. _Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded._ Harry had agreed very much with the book's points, and its breakdowns on the actual value of intent in terms of magical theory had been an absolute game-changer.

After reading that book, Harry had broken into his book on non-lethal spells to win a duel. Many of them were definitely above his current level, but that did not mean he hadn't read ahead a bit. He had, with the help of a surprisingly willing Daphne and Tracey, practised some of the more harmless spells he knew, though most of them had not come from that particular tome.

He'd learned, through using the spells on them in exchange for returning the favour, that he had easily mastered the disarming charm, the leg locker, the full-body-bind and the bat-bogey hex. Tracey had some problems with these spells, but she could manage some of the very minor jinxes. She was decent at Charms, though her strengths were in the theory. Daphne had managed the leg-locker, bat-bogey hex, and several other more minor spells like the dancing jinx, but the other higher-level spells still evaded her for now.

Harry had set his sights on the Protego shield. It wasn't usually taught until the fifth year, but Harry knew that it would be unbelievably useful. If he could master it, he could probably master many of the spells in the book.

He had also kept up with his work for his lessons just fine and continued to work ahead. Now, he could comfortably say that he could complete the first year curriculum in Transfiguration, and he was not far off in Charms either, though he had yet to attempt either of the tasks that would be asked for in exams. Speaking of which, Harry really needed to figure out what the teachers actually had them do for the exams.

At first, Daphne had been skeptical of his habits. She had seemed to think he was punishing himself in some sort of way by spending so much time practising. She had come to realize since then that Harry was genuinely just obsessed with magic.

Harry had needed to fight down the impulse to curse Malfoy several times. Leaving him in a full-body-bind was sorely tempting, but he knew there were far better ways of doing it. A vague plan had already formed in his mind as to how to get back at Malfoy, but he would have to do a lot more research before he was even remotely comfortable with, or capable of trying it.

He'd told Daphne that he intended to get back at Malfoy, tried to include her even, but she simply encouraged him. According to her, she would get her own vengeance in due time. It was only a shame that Tracey couldn't, or she would be vilified by the rest of Slytherin House. Under normal circumstances, Harry, a halfblood, would be too if it was found out he was going after the Malfoy heir, but his status of Heir Potter offered him a certain amount of protection. Not as much as he would have liked, since much of the house did not view his family in the most positive of lights. His friendship with the heiress of a Founding Twelve family actually granted him just as much, if not more protection, he thought, but that would not extend to Tracey if she went after revenge. Not after it had already saved her skin following the fiasco with Malfoy earlier in the year.

"Harry?" Daphne asked him, lowering her voice conspiratorially. Harry quirked an eyebrow; this was odd behaviour for her.

"Yes?"

"Have you responded to the Weitts's invitation?"

"No, I haven't. And yes, don't worry, I intend to." He decided to just answer her unasked question, knowing by now how Daphne did things. "My answer will depend on how the meeting with my father goes."

Daphne nodded, understanding Harry's implications easily enough.

Harry did hope his father allowed him to go. Barring a disastrous meeting, Harry would rather, at the very least, not burn the bridge that was his father. Being the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House had its perks. James couldn't disown Harry unless extreme circumstances that Harry very much doubted would ever come to pass took place, but Harry could take full advantage of those perks with a much higher level of ease if he was at least on speaking terms with James.

He wasn't even sure if the Potters held or attended a gala of their own on Samhain. Personally, he doubted it, due to the events of 1981, but he also had no real idea either way. If James was holding or attending one, he would likely want Harry there if he allowed him to leave the castle at all.

Even if he didn't, Harry was not quite sure how he would react to his heir attending the Weitts's gathering. They were not under the Conservative banner like most of Voldemort's former supporters, but a large number of those supporters would certainly be in attendance. Harry wasn't sure if his father would react kindly to that. He had, after all, made a rather horrible attempt at a subtle remark about staying away from the children of Death Eaters in his first letter.

Harry certainly hoped to get out to the gathering. It was a networking dream and though he was a bit nervous at the prospect of meeting so many new people, a phenomenon that he was still rather unaccustomed to, he thought it would be a fantastic opportunity. Plus, it would serve as the perfect arena for his end game to unfold in.

* * *

_**October 11, 1991**_

_**The Third Floor**_

_**5:40 PM**_

Lessons were out for the day, which meant that students above the third year had been granted access to Hogsmeade. As many of them crowded into the magically enchanted carriages, a small, sharp-eyed first year crept down the third-floor corridor closest to the grand, marble staircase and approached a humpbacked statue of a one-eyed witch that was often passed by.

He had done some reconnaissance already about a week earlier. The passage was certainly legitimate and seemed to lead directly into a cellar that Harry assumed belonged to a building somewhere in the village. Which building, he didn't know, nor was he daring enough to try and find out, but he had found out what he'd wanted.

As he approached the statue in question, he glanced around quickly, making sure that he was not being followed before swiftly, he tapped his wand on the hump of the statue.

"Dissendium."

The hump slid aside, revealing the passageway underneath it. With a final glance to the corridorl, Harry quickly slipped down into the passage, only vaguely aware of it closing behind him. Once he was down in the passage itself, it took his eyes a second to adjust to the dim light, though not as long as they probably should have taken. Privately, he thought that the ritual in Knockturn Alley may have done more than merely fixed his eyes, though he could not be completely sure. When they did adjust, however, he realized that, jase as James had hinted would be the case in the letter he had received, Harry was not alone.

Standing a bit in front of him, watching him with naturally wide, watery blue eyes was a man whom Harry had never seen before. He was certainly on the shorter side, maybe 5'6″ or 5'7″, but he had a healthy build. He looked as if he had used to carry a lot of excess weight that he had since shed. Harry would not go as far as to say the man looked athletic, but he was certainly lean.

There was a split second of recognition in the man's eyes before he smiled a wide, easy smile. "Harry!" the man greeted him. He stepped forward, perhaps to clasp him on the shoulder but paused, seeming to think better of the idea, choosing instead to hold out his hand to Harry's mild relief. "If, of course, you have no problems with being called by your first name?"

Harry plastered an easy smile onto his face, artificial as it may have been. If this was a friend of his father's, there was only one acceptable answer to give as he reached out and took the man's hand. "Of course, I don't mind, sir. You're a friend of my father, I assume?"

The man smiled at him again, shaking his hand jovially. "The very best of friends, as a matter of fact. Peter's the name — Peter Pettigrew. None of this sir business, though. Call me Peter, since I imagine Uncle Pete would be a stretch for now."

Harry nodded. This man was not what he had expected. He seemed quite perceptive and rather realistic as to his situation and standing in regards to Harry. If only he had rubbed off a bit on Charlus.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter," Harry said with his trademarked smile.

Peter beamed. "Oh, Harry, trust me; the pleasure is all mine."

"My Father wanted you to meet me here?"

"He did. I admit, I wasn't as sure as he seemed to be that you would choose this route, but I'm pleased you did. The castle holds many secrets. It's an advantage to know as many of them as possible." He smirked. "One that me, your father, and our friends happily abused during our school days."

"You've known each other a long time then?" Harry asked, miming interest as he and Pettigrew made the walk through the tunnel. There were a few rodents scuttling around, but neither wizard paid them any mind.

"Long before you or your brother were even a thought. We met on the train on our first day at Hogwarts." he sighed. "I admit, I was not in the best place at that time, and your father, well… I'm sure you can imagine the respect he commanded as the Potter heir. He took me in as if I were family." Peter smiled a rather nostalgic smile. "It was much more pleasant being with James as opposed to being against him."

Harry frowned at that. For the first time, Pettigrew had caught his interest, and he did not need to fake curiosity when he asked his next question. "What do you mean by that?"

Peter's face scrunched for a moment as if he regretted saying that last bit. Then, he shrugged a bit sheepishly. It was well done, but something about it all didn't quite seem genuine. "James — in his school years, of course, was a bit… overzealous in dealing with those whom he didn't like much." Peter looked pointedly at Harry. "Ask Professor Snape. He could probably tell you better than anybody."

Was that why Snape held a grudge against Harry? The results of some playground drama from decades past? If that was the case, his Head of House was more petty than Harry had thought.

"So, he was a bully, then?"

Peter winced. "I don't know if I would go that far." he defended quickly. "James was — immature, I suppose." Peter smiled. "Still is, sometimes. I guess we all have our moments." He let out an easy laugh, and Harry rewarded the man's efforts with an equally easy smile. There was something about Pettigrew. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but the man unnerved him. In fairness, Harry didn't exactly trust adults in general, so that could have played a factor too.

Harry and Peter entered the same cellar that Harry had a while back.

Pettigrew grinned at him. "Any guesses? Or have you gone exploring already?"

Harry shook his head. "I might have done if I had a way of not getting caught." He thought for a moment before hazarding a vague guess. "Somewhere in central Hogsmeade, maybe? I don't have a good enough knowledge of the place to make an accurate guess."

Peter grinned more broadly still. "Well, Harry, allow me to welcome you to Honeydukes! It is truly one of the most magical places our world has to offer!"

Honeydukes, as it turned out, appeared to be a massive sweet shop. Harry didn't really know what he thought about sweets, as he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever eaten them. Pettigrew seemed to pick up on at least part of this, as he bought Harry several rather mysterious bags of sweets and chocolates of all varieties.

"Think of it as a very late birthday present," he told Harry when Harry, out of politeness, told him the gesture was unnecessary. The man winced at his own statement. "After all, I've missed ten too many of them."

It seemed, at least at first glance, that Harry's guess about being in central Hogsmeade was pretty on the money once they exited the shop in question. They stood on what appeared to be the main road in the small village, and they certainly did seem to be somewhere near the village's centre. Harry could see the hulking outline of the castle without issue, though from this distance, its details, minus the obvious towers and the like were hidden from him.

"Quite a quaint little place, isn't it?" Pettigrew asked, gesturing around the street and the surrounding area.

"It does seem quite nice."

"This way." Peter led him up the street, making their way closer to the looming shadow that was Hogwarts castle in the distance. They did not walk nearly that far. A few minutes later, Peter pointed out an establishment that seemed larger and busier than most.

The Three Broomsticks.

When they entered, they were swiftly greeted by a rather attractive looking server. "Hello, Mr. Pettigrew." she greeted Peter with a smile.

"Good evening, Rosmerta," Pettigrew responded pleasantly. "I'm afraid I won't be staying long. I'm just here to escort this young lad to his meeting with Lord Potter upstairs. You understand, of course?"

Without waiting for an answer, Pettigrew stepped past Rosmerta, leading Harry behind the bar and through an oak door that led to a set of stairs. When they climbed up the stairs, there were several doors on the landing, though the largest and most ornate was the one that Harry was quite certain he needed to go through.

"Are you coming?" he asked Peter, hoping for an answer in the negative.

Peter smiled with some regret. "Afraid not, Sport." Harry's eye twitched as he just barely managed to suppress a wince at the nickname. Pettigrew did not seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't seem to care. "I've got other business I need to attend to while I'm up this way. If you're not comfortable taking the passage back to school, just go up in the carriages with the others." He winked at Harry. "Between the two of us, I doubt that'll be a problem."

He sent Harry one last encouraging smile before, inclining his head to the Potter heir, he made his exit, leaving Harry standing in front of the door alone. Harry closed his eyes and took several long, deep, calming breaths in an effort to keep his tumult of emotions under control. Once he was reasonably confident that he wouldn't explode at the first sight of his father, Harry slowly knocked on the door, which opened of its own accord a second later.

The meeting room was quite a bit nicer of a setting than Harry was accustomed to. The floors were done in a simple, yet stylish carpet, and there was a large window that overlooked the crowded street below. The room's main feature, however, was clearly the large, oak table that dominated much of its centre. The table was long, clearly meant for meetings of large precessions, if necessary.

What drew Harry's immediate attention was not the room itself, but the man who occupied the seat at the head of the table.

Hagrid had told him, when they first met, that he looked an awful lot like his father. Harry could clearly see their differences in appearance were as evident as their similarities, but he could still see where Hagrid had drawn that conclusion from, even if Charlus was clearly the true doppelgänger of his father.

Like was the case with his twin, Harry shared many similarities to James Potter in terms of facial features. Their jaw was very similar, as were their cheekbones. The general shape of their face too. James's features were sharp and well defined, and though Harry's certainly had some of those elements, his were somehow softer, more aristocratic. He figured the softer features were likely from his mother, though he didn't really see where the aristocratic look came from. If anything, he would have suspected his father's side, but his father didn't have that look about him.

Their hair would have likely mirrored each other had Harry not tamed it years earlier. The shade was exactly the same, as was the length. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Harry's was pristine, parted and perfect, James's was chaotic and messy, but somehow still mildly stylish. The biggest difference was their eyes. For one thing, James wore elegant glasses similar to the ones his youngest son wore, and his eyes, unlike his son's, were a deep, warm hazel as opposed to a shocking, intense emerald.

There was silence for some time. Then, ever so tentatively, James spoke, putting some of that legendary Gryffindor courage to use.

"Harry?"

Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. 'Like father, like son,' he thought, remembering the way that Charlus had greeted him in almost the exact same manner.

"Father," he responded neutrally, giving away none of his true emotions.

"Charlus… well… he did say you looked a bit different than he expected."

Harry actually did roll his eyes at this. "There was Mum to draw from genetically too."

"I suppose there was." he conceded with a rather sad smile. "It's a miracle that one of you seemed to take as much from Lily as you did from me. Merlin knows she's the better parent to draw from…"

Quite the understatement, in Harry's opinion.

"Well," Harry said carefully, knowing that the ice had to be broken eventually, "I did grow up with her family." He did try and keep the coldness out of his voice, though he did not think he was completely successful.

James winced. "Harry… I… Lily… she was nothing like those muggles." He pressed his eyes shut, sitting in that position for several seconds. Harry did not take his eyes off of James. "Putting you with them… there's nothing I regret more. If I'd have known, if I'd have realized-"

"Did you not have any idea what kind of people your wife's sister and brother-in-law were?"

James sighed. "I knew what Petunia was like as a child. I had no idea what she was like as an adult." He met Harry's eyes and beyond the pain in the older man's, Harry could see an intensity that surprised him. "If I had known what they were like — what they would tell you..."

Harry had to resist the urge to throw everything they had done to him in James's face, not to mention point out that what they had told him had been the least of his worries, but he did not.

"You should have at least checked in on me."

"Yes," James admitted, "I should've. There was supposed to be somebody keeping an eye out for signs of mistreatment, but they clearly didn't do a great job of it." James's voice was bitter, if not outright angry. Harry subconsciously tensed. Angry adults had never boded well for him in the past. Mercifully, James did not notice.

Well — time for the million-pound question, he supposed

"Why did you do it in the first place?" Harry was amazed that his voice managed to stay neutral, but it did.

James suddenly looked every bit as old as Dumbledore. "In hindsight, it looks pretty stupid," he muttered. "Looks like an excuse, anyway. Harry… I didn't know what to do with myself after she… attacked. I was an idiot. I was young and I was stupid; still am sometimes, but that's beside the point. I didn't trust myself to raise one kid, let alone two. It was Lily who was good with that sort of stuff. I walked into the room, did something funny, did a cool bit of magic, and left. I always let her do the actual parenting. It was… easier, I guess.

"And then with Charlus… well, I didn't trust myself to raise a kid, let alone a war hero." He scowled. "I didn't think I would be able to spend enough time raising you with all of the bullshit that Charlus had to go through. I thought, if you grew up around your brother, you'd be jealous, even spiteful. I thought if you were raised away from him, it might help. A… couple of other people suggested the muggle world. Remove you entirely so you didn't resent your brother, you know?" He dipped his head. "Now, I realize how incredibly stupid that decision was."

'Oh, you have no idea.'

Harry wanted to throw it in the man's face so badly. He wanted to hurl obscenities at him. He wanted to tell him about the long, hungry nights in his cupboard. He wanted to remove his robes and shirt to show James the scars that had manifested as a result of his actions. He wanted to do all of this and more, but he did not dare. He had to control the surging flames of fury that were coalescing inside of him.

'A bridge, Potter. The importance of a bridge; hold it together.'

"I do not forgive you; I may never forgive you," Harry said in that same, flat voice. For a second, James looked as if he had been struck, but Harry went on. "You have absolutely no idea what they did if you think them telling me you were dead was the most worrying of my problems." James paled dramatically. "But, I can… accept — grudgingly, mind you, that your intentions seem decent enough."

It wasn't a lie. James seemed to mean well, and Harry did not sense deception in his father. True, he was sure there was probably more to this story than he knew, but that was to be expected; he could investigate later. If James were lying about his intent or the events, Harry thought he would know, as he always had before. "I still think you were an idiot and the literal representation of the absolute worst qualities of Gryffindor; acting without thinking, being too noble to actually think with some common sense, and all the rest. But I… accept your reasoning on one condition."

"Anything."

"I am never going back to Privet Drive."

James looked shocked. "Of course you're not!" he said, sounding confused, even outraged. "Even I'm not that much of an idiot!" The joke fell flat, but Harry could vaguely appreciate the attempt. Finally, he stepped forward and took one of the seats nearest to his father.

There was a long, awkward silence before Harry spoke. "Well, I guess we may as well start over." He held out his hand. "Harry Potter. Your son, first year Slytherin, and Heir of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter." He watched James carefully for any negative reaction to the bit about his house and his heirship, but he saw none beyond a twitch of the man's eye. Only relief.

James took his hand eagerly. "James Potter. Senior Auror, Quidditch fanatic, former chick magnet and Marauder extraordinaire, at your service." He looked a bit sheepish. "And your Father, of course."

Harry looked at him carefully. "That's going to be weird for me," he admitted.

"You don't have to call me Father, or Dad, or whatever, at least not yet." James sounded like the very words physically pained him. "I haven't earned that title, not by a long shot."

Harry had to resist the urge to scoff. Damn Gryffindor nobility.

"Okay, James." Permitted or not, that had not helped to elevate the awkward tension filling the room. "Can you tell me about Mum?"

For a moment, James looked pained, hesitant even, almost like he would decline. But then, a few seconds later, his face split into a sad smile and the damn broke.

He learned about how his mother was the best student in their year in spite of her heritage. He learned about how she loved Charms and Potions, about how she had despised him for years when she was all he could think about. About how he had finally got his act together and grew up a bit in an attempt to win her over. About how the day he had proposed had been the happiest of his life up until that point.

Harry also spent a fairly large amount of time asking James about the secret passages around Hogwarts. He learned about a few others that led out of the castle, as well as a few other shortcuts he had yet to find. James mentioned something about a map of the school that he and his friends had used, but he was vague on the topic. Unfortunately, he admitted that nowadays, he hadn't the foggiest idea where that map might be, but he assured Harry that the castle wasn't too hard to figure out if one put the effort in, rare as such a thing was.

Harry listened attentively, asked questions when appropriate, and nodded along. As much as he hated to concede the point, his father seemed a very difficult man to hate. At least, in regards to his personality. He was charismatic and animated, but not annoyingly so, and carried an easy sense of humour that could be universally appreciated. On top of all of that, he seemed all too willing to answer Harry's questions, and Harry was marginally relieved for such a thing.

He did not forgive his father, he was not sure if he ever would. But he decided that a tentative truce or even an alliance seemed in order. The flames of fury still persistently licked all up and down his innards, but Harry managed to suppress them. Long term advances should not be sacrificed out of feelings as immature as anger. He already had his revenge planned. Best Charlus, best James, mould the Potter name in his image. Defy the man quietly, defy the man in a way that would lead only to positive outcomes.

As Harry stood to leave, satisfied with how the meeting had gone but legitimately needing to get back to the castle, he paused, having deliberately left this bit to the end.

James seemed to notice his hesitation. "Was there something else, Harry?"

Harry gave the impression of surprise. Vulnerability would be an asset.

"Um, yes, sorry; I wasn't really encouraged to ask questions at the Dursleys. It's still a little odd, you know."

James winced. "Harry, you can ask me anything and I'll answer you unless I have a very good reason not to."

Harry hesitated, very real worry making the maintenance of his mask all the easier at that moment. "Well… I was wondering… I've been invited to a major social gathering on Samhain. I was wondering if-if you would let me go? If I don't have any obligations at one of your events as the Potter heir that night, of course." Again, he watched James for a reaction to the title, but there was none beyond a bit of surprise.

"I'm glad you educated yourself on wizarding culture," he said, rubbing his temples. "It does make my life a lot easier, and will save both of us hours on end that we could quite frankly be spending doing things that are a hell of a lot more enjoyable than reading etiquette books." He sighed. "No, you have no… obligations. I… well — I don't do much on Samhain, to be honest."

Harry nodded, plastering the most understanding smile he could muster upon his face. It wasn't hard, as he had decided himself that he would not be partaking in the Hogwarts feast. The Weitts's party was far too big of an opportunity to miss out on, but he would restrain from truly celebrating the day.

"Who is hosting the gathering?" James asked, looking a bit grim for the first time. Harry had no trouble piecing together his reasons.

On principle, James did not like the fact that Harry was in Slytherin. He had no outright hatred for the house and it did not seem like he would treat Harry any lesser for it, but he had fought many of its alumni on the battlefield, so his perception was naturally a bit tainted. In fairness, Harry could see things from his perspective. His only problem with Harry being in Slytherin, beyond the obvious reminder of how his childhood had differed from Charlus's, was that he seemed justifiably worried about whom Harry was hanging around with.

"The Weitts family."

"A Neutral family, then," James said reluctantly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You don't like them?"

James shrugged. "I don't know enough about them to like them or not, which is sort of my problem with them, I guess. They stayed out of the last war, but they certainly didn't jump in to help, and they seemed to benefit quite a bit after its end." He appraised Harry. "Even if they're not dark, there will definitely be children and parents from dark families there."

Harry wanted badly to scowl but settled instead for a shrug. There is no light and dark, or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded, he remembered but did not dare to speak aloud. For the first time, Harry thought his father naive and foolish in matters not directly related to him. "I sleep with the children of dark families." He nearly choked on the word 'dark' but he managed.

James shifted uncomfortably. "Yes… but… the parents — they're more who I'm worried about."

"I'll be at a public event, in the home of an extremely politically powerful neutral family and probably at the side of the Greengrass Heiress. Nobody will touch me, and that's aside from me being the Potter heir myself."

When Harry spoke the name "Greengrass" he saw James's face darken again, if only for a second. He was distrustful of the Neutrals, it seemed, even if he did not outright dislike them as he did the Conservatives. Harry supposed it was fair, but if he tried to intervene in his friendship with neutral families' children — there would be problems.

"Well…" when he paused, it came together, and Harry could have sneered. His father did not distrust him, at least not outright. He was, however, worried that Harry was too weak and naïve to resist the influences of others that could befall him at this party. He had no way of convincing James this was not the case, at least not without revealing a lot of details he would much prefer remained private. So instead, he fell back on vulnerability, something he suspected would be a good weapon against his father for quite some time.

"Please?" Harry asked, trying his best to dim the light in his eyes as he looked imploringly at his father. "My best friend is going. It would be a good networking opportunity, and I swear I'll be careful. Please?" The word tasted vile in Harry's mouth and he hated himself for the display, but he could practically see his father's resolve crumble in front of his very eyes.

James sighed, and Harry watched with satisfaction as the man's fight drained out of him. "Well… oh, all right then. Just promise me, promise me, Harry, that you'll be extremely careful and stick with the right sort?"

Harry shot James his long-perfected disarming smile. "Of course, Father, I promise."

* * *

_**October 31, 1991**_

_**The Charms Classroom**_

_**1:10 PM**_

Harry's life had fallen back into normality since his arrival back at Hogwarts after the meeting with his father.

As close to normality as he was going to get, anyway.

He had made significant progress with the Protego shield but realized it may be a long-term project, so he started learning some other additional spells as well. He just made sure to end each practice with a few minutes of work on the shield. He would have been frustrated had the spell not been so far above his current grade level.

As soon as he made his way through the tunnel back to the castle, ignoring the few rodents he came across once more, he penned a formal letter of acceptance to the Weitts family and sent it off.

In the twenty days since that letter had been sent off, Harry had been balancing his lessons with his extracurricular studies and exploration of the castle. He planned to get a bit further on the latter tonight while everybody else was at the Halloween feast.

As for the lessons themselves, they remained quite mundane. Harry had officially decided, after a fair bit of testing the true limitations of Binns's skills in observation that he was going to start not going to history at all. Binns didn't even do the attendance, and he would show up for tests and such when Daphne and Tracey told him they would happen, studying out of the history book itself.

The Perks of a near eidetic memory.

He had enjoyed all of his other lessons, though none more so than Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hurst was by far his favourite teacher, and he was quite invested in the subject. Potions was fun as well. Harry often worked with Daphne and was improving very fast with her help. The book from the Restricted Section helped too. Though he knew it was petty of him, he found the frequent sight of Charlus and his group of morons getting sniped at by Snape rather entertaining. Snape was by no means Harry's biggest supporter. He never gave Harry house points, even if he didn't take any either. Harry never really gave him a reason to. For the most part, Snape just ignored him, but he would occasionally try and catch him out with a question out of the blue.

So far, Charms had definitely been the biggest let-down for Harry. The lessons were interesting, but they had barely done any practical work at all. The only spells they had gone over were Lumos — the spell for wand light, Tempus — the spell used to display the time, and the colour alteration charm— Colovaria.

That would change today though, a fact that had Harry rather excited as he took a seat next to Zabini, as Daphne and Tracey had chosen to sit together today. Professor Flitwick had promised them they would be working on the levitation charm, and everybody in the class seemed hell-bent to hold him to his word.

Harry knew he could perform the spell without effort, but that was not the point. Just getting to do the spell in an actual lesson in the first place was rewarding enough for him.

Flitwick gave them a long, if admittedly necessary lecture about the dangers of the spell. He punctuated his point with an odd story about a man who incanted incorrectly and wound up with a buffalo on his chest. The Slytherins all saw this for the metaphor it was. Except for Crabbe and Goyle, who looked mildly confused and a bit worried. Harry had the odd feeling that Charlus may have been in that same boat. If not him, certainly his friend, Weasley. subject together. The thought made Harry smile.

Finally, the feathers were in front of them and Harry lazily slid his wand from his holster. Zabini wasted no time as he took out his wand and attempted the charm. On the first attempt, nothing happened, nor on the second. On the third, however, the feather twitched.

"The wand movement and incantation aren't enough," Harry muttered absentmindedly as he moved his own feather into position. Zabini looked as if he would bite back. That was until Harry swished and flicked his wand, spoke the spell clearly, and sent his feather floating steadily into the air, where he allowed it to hover for a few seconds before slowly lowering it back down.

Flitwick was on him in a second, praising him to the moon and back for his ability and telling Harry that his mother was a sort of prodigy in the subject, prompting his stomach to give an odd jolt.

When Flitwick left their table after awarding him ten points, Zabini muttered, quietly enough that nobody else heard him, "All right, Potter. I'm listening."

"Intent," Harry said simply and just as quietly. "Charms isn't that different from Transfiguration that way, even though it's easier. You need to visualize the effect you want your spell to have, or, if you're a bit more confident, just focus on the intent of the spell. Will your magic to do what you want it to do, don't just wave your wand and mutter the incantation."

Blaise nodded slowly. "That… makes a shocking amount of sense, actually." He tried again and this time, his feather jerked a few inches off the desk before falling back down. He grinned.

Zabini, with Harry's help, was the third person in the class to master the charm. The only other to do it faster was Daphne, who was easily the second-best in Slytherin at the subject, possibly in their year in general.

When the period was over, the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors, minus Charlus, who was excused on account of his Quidditch position, went through yet another flying lesson. It turned out that Charlus wasn't the only Potter with prodigious skill on a broom. Harry doubted he was quite as good as his twin since he'd just not had the practice, but he was damn good, especially for somebody who had never ridden a broom before Hogwarts. The only one in the class on a par with him was Malfoy and though the other boy had cleaner technique as a whole, Harry thought he was the superior flyer out of the two of them, but he also knew all too well that his opinion was not exactly objective.

After the lesson ended, Harry waited around with the others until about thirty minutes before the feast was due to start. He, Daphne and Tracy had been working on the essay that Flitwick had assigned them, but Harry quickly stuffed everything into his bag.

"Where are you off too?" Daphne asked, not looking up from her essay.

"The dormitory, at the moment."

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant?"

"Of course I did, but it's so much fun to return vague questions with vague answers." When he met her icy glare, he raised his hands in placation. "Ok, ok, I'm going to go exploring."

"But the…" Daphne trailed off, realization shining in her ice-blue eyes for a split second before it was banished just as quickly. "Oh, Harry," she muttered, setting down her essay. Tracey too seemed to have picked up on the occasion. "We can stay with you," Daphne offered, but Harry shook his head.

"No, it's ok. I wouldn't want you to break your own traditions for me. I think it's best if I'm alone tonight anyway, especially since I won't be once we leave for Weitts Manor."

Harry had arranged to floo over at 7:45 and Daphne at 8:00.

Daphne hesitated, but she understood better than anybody else how preconditioned Harry was to isolation, and she understood that it was not necessarily a bad thing. Surprisingly, there was a stunning amount of understanding in Tracey's eyes. She looked almost like she knew the feeling.

Odd.

"Ok," she said with a nod, "just… don't get too lost in your own head, ok?"

He smiled a genuine smile at her before putting his bag in the dorm and setting out on his exploration.

* * *

_**About thirty minutes later, in the Great Hall...**_

Daphne loved the Great Hall. It was perhaps her favourite room in the entire castle, at least that she had seen so far. It had a certain magical, yet homely feel to it, and she absolutely loved the enchanted ceiling and how the candlelight danced in the evenings. Tonight though, she was not quite sure what to make of the place.

On one hand, the decorations were, if one looked at them objectively, magnificent. On another, her thoughts echoed the complaints that were running up and down the Slytherin table.

It really was a disgrace to wizarding culture and a slap in the face to any who followed the old traditions.

Daphne was no muggleborn incriminator by any stretch. She could care less what somebody's blood status was. She cared about ability and respect. She had been raised in a family that very much respected high society and pureblood culture. She did not expect the muggle-borns to bow to that tradition and follow every rule without exception, but she did expect them, if they wanted her respect, to make an effort.

The same went for muggle raised students, which was a small reason why, after allying with Harry on Grace's recommendation, Daphne had been able to genuinely call him one of her two best friends. He wasn't perfect, there were things he had not yet learned and such, but he had clearly made a titanic effort to integrate. Daphne knew that if she pointed out to Harry an area he had not mastered, he would make the effort to do so.

The hall though… It was so blatantly catered towards the muggle-born students that even Daphne, who found the stereotypical Slytherin sneer distasteful had to fight very hard not to wear it herself.

The hall was littered with massive orange pumpkins, and the walls contrasted between dark blacks and lurid oranges. Granted, the candles shining in the Jack O' lanterns were certainly aesthetically pleasing, but Daphne felt insulted by the entire thing.

She didn't have a whole lot of time much time to feel insulted, as before the feast could well and truly begin, the doors to the hall banged open, and a hysterical looking Filch staggered in, his eyes wide, almost bulging out of his head as he staggered towards the staff table. A hush fell over the hall as he fell to his knees directly in front of Dumbledore.

"Troll," he moaned. "Goin' up the marble staircase — no idea where to — got the hell outta there as any sensible person would."

Then, he fainted.

The hall descended into absolute chaos before finally, Dumbledore fired off several booming fireworks from the tip of his wand to get their attention.

"Students! As we are unaware of the troll's path, you will all be remaining in this hall until we return. To ensure nobody gets any ideas to the contrary, I shall assure the area is locked down. Prefects, it is your duty while we are gone to see to the maintenance of order inside this hall." Then, Dumbledore swept to his feet without another word, and with the remainder of the faculty behind him, he marched straight out of the Great Hall. Daphne's sharp eyes did notice, however, that their defence professor did not seem to be among them.

'Odd.'

"Um… Daphne." whispered a terrified sounding Tracey.

"We're going to be fine, Tracey," Daphne assured her friend, giving her hand a small squeeze under the table that was unnoticeable to any who were not closely watching.

Tracey bit her lip. "I know we are, but what about Harry?"

Daphne's eyes widened. "Oh… oh no."

* * *

_**A few minutes later, on the second floor...**_

Thus far, Harry's exploration of the castle had been fruitless, but he wasn't overly bothered as his mind was very much in other places. Half of his mind seemed devoted to theorizing over the endless possibilities of what could have been had Voldemort not decided to ruin his life on this day ten years ago. The other half of his brain was doing its best to mentally prepare him for the Weitts's Samhain gathering, which he was more nervous for than he would care to admit.

Harry was rather skilled in social interactions as long as said interaction did not hinge on emotions, he thought. Manipulation had been an essential tool when growing up. Sweet talking a teacher not to write home, sweet-talking kids not to run off to Dudley's gang anytime Harry upset them and so many other occasions. In saying that, he was still a natural introvert and the prospect of hours of long, painstaking discussion did not sound remarkably appealing to him. And that was ignoring the fact of how uncomfortable it would be. In saying that, it was an opportunity he could not pass up.

So lost he was in thought as he made his way down a second-floor corridor, Harry did not even notice the odd, horrid stench that reached his nostrils. Not, at least, until he rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

What the hell?'

Lumbering down the corridor, with its massive wooden club at its side was the largest and dumbest looking creature Harry had ever seen. He knew, from his textbook: _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ that this creature was a troll, but that did absolutely nothing to assure him. Quite the opposite in fact.

Damn, irony was truly a powerful force. He shouldn't have left at Weasley for bringing up the beast at the sorting. Moreover, he definitely shouldn't have actively thought how ludicrous the possibility of running into one any time soon was.

The universe really did work in strange ways sometimes.

Without thinking, Harry's wand shot into his hand. He had absolutely no idea what he could possibly do against a troll, but he had to try. He could have run, but he was one-hundred per cent sure he would not make it far. Trolls may have lumbered in general, but they could be devilishly fast when they wanted to be.

'Well, I know one thing, but do I dare try?'

He didn't dare, at least not yet.

"Flipendo!" he snarled, flicking his wand towards the troll once it had spotted him and started lumbering in his direction.

The knockback jinx didn't quite have the effect Harry was looking for. The troll staggered as if it had run into an invisible wall, but it was only slowed for a second.

"Mobiliarbus!"

Nothing.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Nothing.

The troll was upon him now and raising its club to strike. Harry bit out the only spell he could think of that might save him, never mind the fact he had yet to perform it well enough to make any difference, even in practice. useful.

"PROTEGO!"

The troll's club slammed hard against his shield and Harry staggered backwards as his magical barrier faltered. It was weak for certain, but Harry was, even in this circumstance, so blown away by the fact he had managed one at all that he didn't much care. The shield gave him enough time to step back and gain his distance for now, but before long, the troll smashed right through and began to lumber towards him once more.

He would have to use his last resort. It was risky — if anyone saw him — if anyone noticed him.

Vilification was better than death.

Harry raised his wand, but before he could reach for his last resort, another, strong, confident voice spoke from somewhere in front of him, behind the troll.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

There was a jet of green light and a rushing sound that was indescribable. Harry could see nothing as the corridor was lit with that same, all too familiar green light. He heard a loud thud and did not need to open his eyes to know that the troll was dead.

He stood there, shaking like a leaf as all of his nightmares from the past ten years crashed over him in waves.

'Keep it together, Potter. No screaming, no tears — not here.'

"Harry," came the same voice from before, but softer. Harry was startled; he knew that voice, but she had never called him by his first name.

His eyes opened. The troll was, indeed, dead in front of him, but standing over it, looking at him with concern in her green eyes that still seemed to shine with an intensity that could not be described, was Professor Hurst.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I'm sorry if anybody expected more from the Harry and James meeting, but I honestly could not see that going any way other than stilted and awkward. Hence why I tried to portray exactly that.**

**I never explicitly say which spell Harry was going to use, but you should be able to figure it out by the end of next chapter. No, it was not the killing curse. There is no chance in hell he could cast that for so many reasons we need not get into.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 22nd, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898. **


	11. TFA Ch 10: Samhain Part II

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 10: Samhain Part II**

* * *

_**October 31, 1991**_

_**The Second Floor**_

_**6:11 PM**_

"P-Professor?" Harry asked, a rare break in his composure showing through his equally rare stutter. Professor Hurst did not speak for several seconds. She simply looked at Harry with the most calculating stare he had ever had levelled upon him.

'I'm dead.'

"Harry," the professor said, using his first name again, "are you injured?"

"N-no," he answered, doing his best to shove the image of the flash of green light out of his mind. He only partially succeeded, but it was a high enough degree of success to allow him to speak and think with at least a margin of coherence. "No, I'm okay. It didn't get me." He hesitated. "It's dead, isn't it?"

His professor watched his face very carefully as she answered. "Yes, Harry. It is dead."

"Was that… Professor … was that-"

"The Killing Curse, yes. To use that curse on another human being would land me a life sentence in Azkaban. To use it on a creature such as a troll would not, though I would likely have to go through a hearing." She looked even more intently at Harry. "It should go without saying that I would be… extremely grateful if you did not speak on the method in which the troll was killed."

"Of course not, Professor."

Briefly, Harry thought she looked surprised, but she recovered quickly. "Very good. I admit, I was rather… worried as to how you might react."

Harry met her eyes. "There is no such thing as light and dark or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded."

A small, thin smile crossed his professor's lips. "I am glad we are in agreement," she said softly, flicking her wand towards the troll and causing a rather large lump to rise on its head. He looked confused. "The Killing Curse leaves no trace, Harry."

He nodded in understanding just as footsteps quickly approached. A second later, several figures stepped around the corner. In the lead was Dumbledore, his lurid orange robes seeming to flow around him as he held his wand at the ready. Behind him were McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape. They all froze for some long, agonizing moments before finally, Dumbledore gained his composure.

"Amelia, what has happened?"

"A most unfortunate incident, Headmaster. I was aware that Master Potter was not at the feast tonight, so I decided to go looking for him when the troll's presence was made public." She shot a quick glance in Harry's direction. "By the time I arrived, there was very little for me to do. It appears that Master Potter knocked the troll out with its own club." She turned to Harry. "A levitation charm, I imagine?"

"Y-yes," he answered, not having to fake even a little bit of his stutter. He had expected many things, but that was not one of them.

"He… what?" McGonagall asked, wide-eyed with a hand over her heart.

Snape stepped forward and ran his wand over the troll's head. "There does seem to be damage to the troll's brain." he conceded with obvious reluctance. He looked up at Dumbledore. "It is dead, Headmaster."

Flitwick let out a squeal of surprise, but Dumbledore merely nodded. "Thank you, Severus." He looked towards Harry. "I do hate to ask this of you, Harry, but why were you not present at the feast this evening?"

"I dislike the idea of celebrating anything tonight, Professor. This day holds a different meaning for me." Understanding flashed in the Headmaster's eyes and he nodded sorrowfully.

"Very well. I apologize for prying and not seeing the obvious for myself, but I had to be quite certain you did not go looking for the troll yourself."

For the briefest of moments, Harry thought he saw something in Dumbledore's eyes, but it made no sense.

Disappointment.

He peered bewilderedly up at the vibrantly dressed man in front of him. "With all due respect, sir, I would never do something that foolish."

Again, something flashed in the Headmaster's eyes, though it was there for so short a time Harry hardly noticed it at all.

"A most reasonable way to live your life, Harry," Dumbledore told him. Before he could go on, his eyes widened. Quickly, he turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, assure that the students return to their common rooms at once. Curfew is to be in full effect with the exceptions of those leaving the castle tonight. I must be off." When he turned, his robes seemed to swirl around him once more as he made his exit.

McGonagall blinked, confused, but Flitwick was speaking. "Well, I must say, Master Potter, I am relieved you're all right. Ten points to Slytherin for rather outstanding wand work."

Harry saw Snape's eyes flash.

"Another ten," said McGonagall, "for composure and bravery in an intense situation. However, Master Potter, please do be much more careful in the future. Filius, Severus, if you could accompany me to the hall." She looked at Professor Hurst. "Amelia, could you please ensure that Master Potter reaches his common room safely?"

"Of course, Deputy Headmistress." Professor Hurst answered, beckoning for Harry to follow her as they made off in the opposite direction from the teachers.

"We're not using the staircase?"

Professor Hurst quirked an eyebrow. "You students seem to carry the false delusion that you and you alone know of the secrets of Hogwarts Castle." She smirked. "Such delusions are particularly amusing when you consider the fact that logically, we teachers have all spent more time in the Castle than any of you have."

They approached a standard suit of armour leaning up against the wall, but Hurst's attention was fixated upon it. "Concede," she ordered, causing the suit of armour to bow its head and step aside, revealing a concealed staircase leading down.

"Does this lead to the first floor?"

"There are two options of exit," she informed him as they descended the stairs. "The portrait of the valley on the first floor will swing aside to admit you access if you tap it with your wand, but otherwise, it will lead you very near to the Potions classroom."

"Useful."

"I certainly thought so."

Neither spoke again until they were in the dungeons. Harry had an idea prodding at the back of his brain, but his years of being conditioned not to ask questions had taken their toll, so he did not dare-

"Curiosity is not a sin, Harry," Professor Hurst said, almost offhandedly.

Harry's eyes widened. "How did you-"

"You are admirably adept at controlling and masking your emotions, but not perfect." She studied him. "Some ingrained habits, are harder to hide than simple emotions."

He hesitated, looking between Hurst and the floor.

Part of Harry was screaming not to ask the question. It was against everything he had been conditioned to do and was technically against the rules. The other part of him quite reasonably pointed out that she seemed to want him to ask, and that after using a Killing Curse in the middle of a school, she was hardly one to claim the moral high ground.

Resigned, Harry decided to take the plunge. "I was wondering, Professor, if you could teach me to duel. Outside of lessons, I mean."

Professor Hurst didn't even break stride as they continued to walk. "I don't think you wish to learn how to duel, Harry."

"What-"

"I believe you would like to know how to fight. There is a distinct and important difference between the two." She seemed to watch him for a reaction once more. "Duelling has rules, fighting does not."

He hesitated, fighting down his impulse to bite his tongue for the second time. "Yes, Professor, the latter sounds more useful."

She did not answer at first, and her face gave nothing away. As they neared the common room, Harry thought she wasn't going to answer at all, but as they drew even nearer, she proved him wrong.

"Friday — seven o'clock." She paused. "I would use my office, but I suspect we may wish for more space."

"I know of a place, Professor," Harry said, explaining about the room in the depths of the Hogwarts dungeons.

"That seems… adequate. I have seen the corridor you speak of, though I never knew of a room beyond it. There are several shortcuts. The easiest, at present, would be the suit of armour nearest the bottom of the stairs leading into the dungeons." She smiled again. "It is rather fond of a particular Hogwarts Founder."

She turned on her heel and left, leaving Harry in front of the blank wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He shook his head, hardly able to believe what had all just happened.

* * *

_**Some time later, in Professor Snape's office...**_

Harry had drawn a fair bit of attention when he'd strolled as nonchalantly into the common room as he could manage. Nobody said anything to him, but many of the upper years were shooting him curious glances. He did have to deal with a long round of questioning from Daphne and Tracey. Harry was pretty confident that he had convinced Tracey that he hadn't run into the troll at all. However, he was pretty certain that Daphne saw through his deflections, though he was not sure if she had pieced the bit about the troll together.

It wasn't that he didn't want to tell them, per se. He was worried that if he did, Daphne, who had already shown a protective side to her character, would be hesitant to let him off on his own anywhere without following him. He didn't want to have to sneak away from his best friends. There was also the matter of Professor Hurst's involvement. He could only imagine how that conversation would go.

'How did you escape from the troll?'

'Ah, nothing too out of the ordinary. Our defence professor just showed up and blasted it with the Killing Curse.'

He almost smiled at the thought, just barely managing to keep from doing just that.

When 7:45 arrived, Harry was the first in Snape's office, ready to use his floo to depart for Weitts Manor.

"Potter," Snape greeted him coolly, not bothering to look up from his stack of what appeared to be essays.

"Good evening, sir."

"You have until noon tomorrow to return to the castle. Most will be spending the night at their homes. If you must return to the Castle tonight, do not dare do so after midnight."

"Yes, sir."

Harry made to throw some floo powder into the fire, rather nervous about travelling this way for the first time.

"Potter."

Snape's voice cut him off and made him pause. "Sir?"

"If you ever do something as idiotic as taking on a full-grown mountain troll again when you could have simply retreated, I promise you, the outcome will not be as... favourable, as it was on this occasion. Do I make myself clear?"

Translation, Snape was going to watch Harry like a hawk and if he made a mistake, he was in for hell.

"Yes, sir."

"You have proven yourself a competent member of my house. See that I do not have to come up with a new distinction between yourself and your idiotic twin."

In a way, Harry was fairly certain that Snape had just paid him the most backhanded compliment one could ever imagine.

"I'll do my best, sir."

Snape waved for him to go, and Harry, taking a deep breath, threw his floo powder into the fire, causing a wall of green flames to roar into existence. He found the idea of stepping into an open flame rather off-putting, even if he knew the magic would prevent physical harm. Sure of that fact as he was, he had to close his eyes and take deep, calming breaths before he stepped forward and declared in a loud, clear voice as Daphne had told him to do, "Weitts Manor."

Harry could honestly say that he had not expected to enjoy floo travel. As he spun like a cork through time and space, watching fireplaces blur past him faster than his eyes and brain could perceive once he had chosen to open his eyes at all, he realized that he had been one-hundred percent correct in his assumption. He did not quite feel nauseous, but it was not far off.

Luckily, the spinning stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Harry felt his feet slam into the ground hard. Only due to years of necessary fast reaction training did Harry manage to stumble forward, turning the momentum into a few confident steps before he looked around.

It appeared as though he was the first guest to arrive, assuming, of course, that the others hadn't already been led from the entrance hall.

Leave it up to a bunch of rich, self-entitled purebloods to show up fashionably late.

Speaking of which, the hall was absolutely glorious. It was rather modern, done in beautiful white tiles. At the same time, the high columned ceiling was distinctly old fashioned, but Harry liked the way the white tiles blended with the marble. Off to the side of him, there was a marble staircase that led up to what he presumed were the manor's higher levels. In the centre of the marble floor was an emblem — a crest, Harry assumed, likely for the Weitts family itself.

The majority of the crest was taken up by an impossibly large, rather majestic, Celtic looking tree. Its roots were tangled but stretched high and seemed to be set with a deep black stone. Beyond the central tangle, the roots spread out to either side of what appeared to be a river with a bridge crossing over the top of it. Across the bridge, something, a family motto, Harry assumed, was written in a language he could not distinguish.

φαρμακεία υπάρχω ισχύς

Before he could ponder on the crest, a strong yet smooth voice cleared its throat from a bit in front of him, and Harry's eyes snapped to the figures of four people who were all watching him intently.

The man standing a bit in front was tall and slim. He had light brown hair, deep-green eyes and sharp, aristocratic features. The woman a bit behind him and to his left was… familiar. Harry's eyes widened for the briefest of moments when he recognized her.

'Which means…'

His eyes flickered to the right where two girls stood, one quite a bit taller than the other. The taller one was Grace, as he had expected, but the shorter one — she was the girl whom he had met in the alley and spotted on the platform — Charlotte.

"Greetings, Heir Potter," said the man, stepping forward and bowing before extending his hand. The Weitts family may have actually had more clout than the Potters at the moment, but they still lacked the Ancient and Most Noble title, so the bow was still necessary on Regent Weitts's part. "Sigmund Weitts, Regent of the House of Weitts. It's a pleasure to have you in my home."

"Well met, Regent Weitts," Harry recited easily. "Your grace and hospitality are acknowledged and appreciated. I thank you for the privilege of attending such an event." Those words were pretty much copied and pasted from his book on etiquette, but if the Weitts Regent noticed, he showed no indication of it.

"The hospitality is my pleasure, Heir Potter." He gestured for the three females to step forward. "Allow me to introduce my beautiful wife, Adriana." The tall, platinum blonde woman whom Harry had met in Knockturn alley bowed her head and graced him with a smile. "You already know my eldest, Grace, of course." Grace nodded to Harry, who nodded back. "And of course, there is my youngest, Charlotte." Charlotte curtsied easily, smiling brightly at Harry. He could tell it wasn't completely sincere, but it was done very well.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Weitts, Miss Weitts. Heiress Weitts, a pleasure as always."

Grace's lips twitched before she nodded as Harry went through the necessary, formal customs.

The floo was firing again, and a group of unfamiliar wizards were stepping through. "I must admit, Heir Potter, you have piqued much of the magical world's curiosity. I must learn more about you before the night is over. But for now, I need to greet our guests. Charlotte, dear, could you show Heir Potter to the ballroom, please? Get him a seat at our table, as well, if you would."

"Of course, Father," Charlotte said easily, shooting Harry yet another dazzling smile as she stepped up to him. He only just realized in time that he was supposed to offer his arm. He did so in time, and she slipped hers through his. If she noticed how tense he had become for a fair few seconds, she chose not to comment as she led him through a side door off of the entrance hall and into a long, well-lit hallway.

"You remember me," was the first thing she said once they were in the relative privacy of the hallway.

It was not a question.

Harry's lips twitched. "You did manage to leave quite the first impression." He smirked. "Apparently, I did too, since you also remember me."

"I suppose you did," she admitted, sounding unconcerned. "You seem surprised. Tense even," Harry realized he probably was still a bit tense as they came to a large set of doors that clearly led to the ballroom.

It was best not to verbalize a reply to that last comment.

They stepped into the ballroom and Harry could have gasped at its majesty. It was the length of the Great Hall with large windows that looked out onto the lush green lawns. There were a number of long tables draped in varying colours of elegant tablecloths. Charlotte led him to the one nearest the open dance floor. Harry slid his arm out of hers, stepped around her and pulled out a chair.

She smiled at him. "You may be new, but at least you have manners. Or," she said with a rather sweet looking smile, "maybe you're just afraid of me. It would explain the tension, too."

Harry had to suppress a snort as he took the seat opposite her. "So would my explanation."

She didn't seem to buy it. "Tense when we were alone in a hallway? It would explain it if we were in the ballroom." She was grinning now.

Harry rolled his eyes. "With all due respect, Scion Weitts-"

"Charlotte." she corrected sharply, taking Harry by surprise. She shrugged. "I don't like the title of scion and you're friends with Daphne. She's like a sister to me."

That was new information.

He was hardly going to argue over something so trivial. "Harry then." She nodded and he went on. "No offence, but I have no reason to fear a ten-year-old who can't do magic."

There was an odd glint in the girl's eyes as she met his. Slowly, deliberately, she slid a thin, dark wand not at all unlike his own from her sleeve, causing his eyes to widen. "What?" she asked him. "Did you think I was in Hephestus's shop to just look around?"

She had a point.

"Touché," he said, watching her wand carefully. It made him very uncomfortable that she had hers out and he did not have his. He knew she wouldn't curse him, but he hated feeling vulnerable perhaps more than anything else. "It still doesn't change the fact you can't use magic though."

She smiled that same, sweet smile before swishing her wand towards his napkin and silverware.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she incanted lazily, and the napkin and silverware lifted slowly off of the table, stopping to hover right at his eye level. Harry's eyes widened despite himself, but he absolutely refused to gape.

Charlotte held the spell for several seconds before gently floating the napkin back onto the table and sliding her wand back up her sleeve. She held up her hands, palms towards him. "Look at that," she commented with that same, sweet smile, "no letter."

"But… the Trace?"

"Is completely and utterly useless for anybody who is not a muggleborn," she cut across him. Charlotte laughed softly. "Have you not figured it out yet, Harry? Daphne called you a genius."

He met her eyes, trying to look for any giveaways.

They both have custom wands. Maybe they didn't have-

"Nope," Charlotte told him cheerfully, an almost predatory smile forming on her face when Harry's eyes widened more than ever before.

'How did she-'

"Oh, come on, Harry. I know you can do it too. You did it to me at the wand shop. Surely you've figured at least that part out."

"Get. Out. Of. My. Head!"

She just quirked a perfect eyebrow.

His eyes flashed as he let go of the restraint he usually held on their shine. Charlotte almost shivered. She had seen something in the summer, but they hadn't glowed like this.

He focused on pushing his magic past her eyes, at looking into her thoughts. For a split second, he got a flash of… something. It was so fast that he did not even have time to perceive. Then, a second later, he blinked. He was back in the physical world so suddenly it had been jarring. The odd, sudden reorientation left him with a vague headache.

So it did work on magicals then. That clearly wasn't the problem.

This time, it was Charlotte's turn to widen her eyes in surprise. "You actually don't understand at all, do you?"

"Understand what?" he hissed.

She raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I didn't mean to upset you I just… I had to test you; I was too curious not to, and I thought you could do it too. I thought it was a fair contest." She studied him. "If it makes you feel any better, it has nothing to do with magicals. Here," she said, meeting his eyes once more, "try again. I won't stop you this time, as long as you just glimpse my surface thoughts."

Harry hadn't even known doing more than that was possible.

Hesitantly, Harry tried again, trying once more to force his magic passed her eyes. This time, he felt no resistance, and it was as if he was glimpsing the thoughts of muggles once more.

"I can get a wand?" Charlotte breathed, seeming to be surprised.

Harry seemed to be in a room, watching Adriana Weitts through Charlotte's eyes.

"Of course," she responded with a soft smile for her daughter. "I would hardly send you off to Hogwarts without being prepared, would I? It would go against everything I have taught you all these years."

"But… the Trace?"

"The Ministry cannot track a person's magic, Charlotte. Such a thing is impossible. The Trace is applied to a location, not a person. The Ministry can tell where magic is being performed. The reason the Trace applies to muggle homes is that the Ministry can pretty easily assume who cast it. Somewhere like Hogwarts, they couldn't track it even if they wanted to. There is so much magic to track, and they would have no idea who cast it. The same goes for many Manors, though the wards on this one make the Trace useless as a whole. Even if it didn't, they would only know magic was being cast here, not by whom. How do you think your sister uses magic?"

Charlotte frowned. "I thought you just got her an exception for her grades or something?"

Adriana smiled exasperatedly down at her youngest daughter. "The Ministry works under the assumption that the parents of magical children will monitor their use of magic." She smiled. "Personally, I would rather my children be the best sorceresses they can be."

Again, Harry was forced from her mind, but this time, he was ready for the odd, jarring feeling. time?"

"So," Harry mused aloud, "some people have a defence against… it?"

Charlotte studied him cautiously. "It's… a lot more complicated than that, but yes, there is a defence against it. Most people have to learn it. Some rare people have a sort of natural defence, but when I say that it's rare — I mean rare."

"Does the defence or offence have a name?"

"They do, but it won't do you any good. You won't find any books on the subject. They're not exactly legal."

"You sound… unsure. Something is either legal or it isn't."

"Legal to own, but not legal to read."

Harry blinked. "That's… completely pointless."

Charlotte nodded. "Occlumency and Legilimency," she said after a few moments.

"I'm taking it that Legilimency can also be developed naturally?"

"Yes," Charlotte answered carefully. "That's even rarer, but it's possible."

He couldn't help but think how much of a disadvantage it was to not be raised with these things. The ability to read minds… that was troubling.

Suddenly, Daphne appeared behind Charlotte, resting her hands on the other girl's shoulders. In an instant, Charlotte was on her feet, embracing Daphne and burying her head into her shoulder. "I've missed you."

Daphne patted her affectionately on the back. "I've noticed," she said amusedly, taking a seat beside Charlotte. "I would introduce you, but it seems as if you've already met." Harry just nodded and Daphne appraised him. "You look tense."

Harry shrugged. "So I do," he admitted, not really wanting to go into detail about all that had just happened. He wondered absentmindedly whether Daphne knew anything about Occlumency or Legilimency.

"It's just odd to see you anything other than the image of perfection." There was a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

Harry wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. Praise was nice, even in the form of banter, but it wasn't exactly something he was accustomed to. After a pause maybe just a fraction longer than appropriate, he decided an attempt at banter of his own may be the best course. "Why Daphne, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She scowled at him. "I'll make sure it will stay that way if you don't shut up," she warned. Harry suppressed a smirk of his own and mimed spelling his lips shut. Charlotte's lips twitched and Daphne rolled her eyes before Charlotte turned on her eagerly.

"How's Hogwarts?" To Harry, it had seemed moments earlier that Charlotte was nearly double her age. Now, as she looked enviously upon Daphne and the curiosity shone in her eyes, Harry could appreciate that she was not yet eleven.

"I'm enjoying it," Daphne said with a small smile. "The politics have gone a bit too far, but aside from that, I've had a good few months."

"Tracey?" Charlotte asked, eliciting a nod from Daphne. Charlotte scowled. "Are you going to do something about Malfoy?"

Daphne smirked. "Oh, he'll get his from me, but I have a feeling Harry will get to him first."

Charlotte peered intently at Harry once more. "You should get on that." He had to resist the urge to grin viciously back at her.

"I intend to."

"Good," was Charlotte's simple response.

People were now beginning to file into the ballroom by the dozens. Harry glanced around, doing his best to keep tabs on everybody whom he knew, which were very few. Silently, he vowed to improve his knowledge of the names and figures of the magical world, mentally adding it to his ever-growing to-do list.

"How have you found the lessons?" Charlotte asked Daphne.

She shrugged. "They've been enjoyable for the most part, though History is as big of a joke as your Sister said it was."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Are they difficult?"

"Not really, I have the advantage in Potions and Herbology, but I've done quite well in Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts as well." She shot a sideways glance at Harry, one that seemed almost annoyed.

"I'm taking it you haven't found them overly difficult?" Charlotte asked him.

"No," Harry answered,

"You'll have no trouble," Daphne assured her oldest friend. "Your wand work will be better than mine, and Potions really isn't that hard as long as you actually study the properties and not just go off of Snape's instructions."

Charlotte frowned. "Is he not a good teacher?"

"Not really," Daphne admitted, causing Harry to look at her, asking a silent question with his eyes. "Oh, don't be foolish, Harry. Just because he's our Head of House doesn't mean we all like him. Don't get me wrong, watching him take the Lions down a peg is entertaining, but he hasn't really taught us anything, has he?"

"I've learned more from you and textbooks than Snape," Harry answered diplomatically.

"You seem to be staying very neutral," Charlotte observed. Daphne looked rather amused by that. She had said the same thing on a number of occasions in the past whilst getting to know him.

He shrugged. "He dislikes me. Quite a bit, actually. I'm just trying not to sound biased."

"At least he likes you more than he does your Brother."

"I would hope so. I at least have the common sense not to insult his personal hygiene on a weekly basis."

Charlotte's composure slipped. "Your Brother does that?"

"Among other things, actually," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "He's a Gryffindor through and through, and not in the best way by any means. He doesn't think before he acts and he's a bit… tactless.

Daphne sniffed. "That's putting it mildly."

Harry shrugged. "I really wish I could give him the benefit of the doubt, but he's really not making it easy."

Charlotte made to pounce, probably planning to ask a question about his brother, but she was cut off by the arrival of her parents and sister, as well as a few others at their table. There was a rather portly looking man with a lime-green bowler hat and a woman Harry suspected was his wife. Another woman who looked an awful lot like Daphne who was also accompanied by a tall, slim man and a smaller, brown-haired girl. Malfoy was there as well, flanked by a slim, beautiful woman that must have been his mother and a man who looked a lot like Draco, but who leaned on a serpentine cane that Harry thought likely hid a spare wand, or something similar.

The final three people came in directly behind the Malfoys. Like the Malfoys, the parents flanked their child, though in this case, it was a daughter. The man was of average height and had a lean build. He had dark, intense eyes, pale skin, sharp features, and straw-coloured hair. On his wrist shone a vibrant golden watch that was practically impossible to miss. The woman on the other side of the child was about the same height as Draco's mother. She had sharp, aristocratic features, high cheekbones, dark, heavily lidded eyes, a strong jaw, and long, thick, shining black hair. The girl in the middle, their daughter, Harry assumed, looked like a miniature version of her mother, though she was paler, somewhere between her parents in terms of skin tone.

"Introductions are in order," Sigmund Weitts declared as he took his place at the head of the table. "Heir Potter, allow me to introduce you to the Greengrasses; Cyrus, Celia and Astoria." The Greengrasses were sitting just to Harry's right, with Daphne's mother on his direct right-hand side, across the table from her daughter. Harry was at the far-left side of the table, though Regent Weitts at the head was technically on his left. "The next family down from them are the Fudges," Sigmund informed him. "Cornelius Fudge, the man in the lime robes is the Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes. Next down from them, Lord Lucius Malfoy, Lady Narcissa Malfoy, and their son, Heir Draco Malfoy."

Harry and Malfoy's eyes locked for a second. Harry could see Malfoy fighting a smirk and just for a moment, he allowed his eyes to flash. Draco looked away suddenly.

"Last, but certainly not least, we have Barty Crouch Jr. Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, his wife, Lady Bellatrix Black; formerly Lestrange, and their daughter and heiress, Ares Black."

Harry knew the name Lestrange. Two of the family members, Rudolphus and Rabastan were serving life sentences in Azkaban for the torture of the Longbottoms. He had known that Rudolphus's ex-wife, Bellatrix, had remarried, though he supposed it made sense for her to still be associated with the name.

She was the Lady Lestrange, even though she wasn't technically a Lestrange by blood. Harry had read that such things were dependent on family charters, the contents of which were hoarded secretively and never released to the public. The best guess he had read was that the Lestrange charter had an extinction clause of some kind. Extinction clauses allowed for unusual actions to be taken when a family was on the brink of extinction. All of the Lestranges were either dead or in Azkaban, so Bellatrix had been the only one left. It was likely that Ares could keep the family going if she sired a child with the Lestrange surname. If she didn't, the family would probably become extinct.

Harry had never heard of a magical marriage where both parties kept their last names, but he supposed it made sense. Crouch could piggyback off of his father's success in the ministry, seeing as the man had served as Minister for very near a decade. By keeping the Black name in spite of the marriage, as she was entitled by her place at the helm of the family, Bellatrix could utilize their seat on the Wizengamot, something she would not have been able to do if she switched her last name. It was smart all round.

Well, she probably could have anyway. All of the Blacks aside from her were either dead, married into other families, or in Azkaban. She would have served as Regent until her daughter came of age, but even then, Ares might have on day married into another family. Harry supposed she had wanted to take no chances, just in case her daughter didn't manage to sire a child with the Black name.

Harry greeted those at his table formally and properly. Customs dictated he greet them in order of rank. Starting with any Lords of Founding Houses and then descending through the hierarchy before doing the same with the Ladies. When Harry first greeted Lord Greengrass, the head of a Founding Family, he could not help but notice the twitch of Draco's eye. Clearly, being outranked by the Greengrass family didn't sit well with him. He filed that useful bit of information away for later.

After everyone had greeted him formally in return, Daphne's mother turned to Harry. "My daughter has written so much about you. It is nice to finally meet you in person."

Harry smiled his well-practised smile. "She's written good things, I hope?"

"Wonderful things," Lady Greengrass affirmed with an approving nod. "She tells me you are rather prodigious with a wand?"

"It Depends how you define prodigious, I guess," Harry answered neutrally, well aware that at least the Weitts family was listening in to their conversation. False modesty was unbecoming, especially for a Slytherin, but he didn't suspect that outright claiming himself as a prodigy was the correct answer either.

Regent Weitts cut in next. "it's good to finally see you take up your place in our world. I confess, I expected to at least hear of your name sooner."

Harry smiled, having mentally prepared himself for this exact question. "You and me both, sir, but some family issues kept that from happening."

Harry was rather proud of that answer. It did an adequate job of answering Regent Weitts's unasked question, but it didn't give anything away that he was not completely comfortable with.

As they ate, all of them made idle conversation. Charlotte continued to ask Daphne about Hogwarts. The Weitts family talked primarily with the Greengrasses while the Malfoys, Fudges, Blacks and Crouch talked as a group of three. Harry stayed mostly quiet, politely answering questions when asked but not overtly drawing attention to himself.

When desserts too had been consumed, Regent Weitts stood and made a speech about everything that Samhain meant. Harry had already known as a result of his research that it was a day to honour the fallen, but he thought the speech was tasteful and well done as a whole. After one final toast, the floor was opened up. The split was about fifty to fifty, with half of the people choosing to dance and half of the others choosing to network.

Harry glanced towards Daphne. "I'm dancing with my father to open. I'm probably going to be pretty held up as the Greengrass Heiress. I'm taking it you're not overly interested in dancing?"

"No. Come find me when you're done."

"Oh, trust me, I will."

Before Harry could turn away after Daphne's departure, Charlotte spoke from his elbow. "Not one for dancing, huh?"

He shrugged. "I was never taught," he answered shortly. He had figured it was a passable excuse, and it was, after all, true.

Charlotte frowned at him. "You don't get along with your father, do you?"

Harry debated how much to tell her, but decided on a direct, yet not revealing truth. "We're working on it."

"He didn't seem to do his duties as a Lord, seeing as you're his heir. You said yourself you didn't really appear at these events, which you should have. Now you're telling me you didn't learn how to dance, which you also should have."

"My childhood is complicated."

Harry expected to see annoyance in Charlotte's visage, but instead, she shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm coming with you."

"You're… what?"

Charlotte smiled and had to visibly suppress a laugh. "Grace is the heiress, so it's her job to politic for the family. I can't really do much, since nobody takes a ten-year-old overly seriously if you're not an Heir or Heiress and Daphne is held up. I may as well shadow someone my own age." She smiled. "And, I admit, you interest me."

If her sister was anything judge by, Harry wasn't entirely sure whether or not that was a good thing.

"I'm flattered," he said dryly

"You should be."

Harry smiled. "You are not what I expected."

"You didn't expect me at all."

Harry's smile widened. "Touché. You are not what I would have expected."

"A miniature copy of my sister, you mean?"

He winced, realizing how hypocritical it was of him to assume that when he had wanted so badly to separate himself from his brother.

"Don't apologize," Charlotte cut in, obviously tracking exactly where his mind was going next. "It is unfitting of your station. You had no information on me. it's not the worst assumption to work with." She smiled. "But no, I am not my sister."

"No," Harry agreed, "definitely not."

Where Grace was distant, quiet, neutral, and seemed to keep everything inside of her own head, Charlotte was more outgoing, more outwardly confident, and had no qualms about making herself heard.

Somebody cleared their throat near the two children and they turned towards the source. Harry saw the same woman from earlier, with her daughter and husband. Her heavily lidded eyes were focused on Harry. "Heir Potter," she greeted him, extending a hand. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Harry briefly ran over everything he knew about Bellatrix Black. Her former husband and his brother were in Azkaban, her current husband had been controlled by Sirius Black in the last war. She held some of the top Defence Against the Dark Arts grades for Hogwarts this century, and she was a daughter of House Black who married into the Lestrange family. In short, she was several layers of danger.

"Well met, Lady Black," Harry greeted her, scraping his lips across the back of her knuckles before straightening up. "Or do you prefer Lestrange?"

"Black if you must, but I would prefer you called me Bellatrix or Bella. We are family, after all. My former husband was convicted of disgusting crimes, I don't go by his name." Her smile grew. "Anyway, we are related through the Black family. Did you know?"

"I did," He hadn't traced his tree back far, but he had examined all of its recent ties. "Harry for me then. And I believe my grandmother was Dorea Black."

"Ah yes, Aunty Dorea. I never did see much of her, I'll admit, but she seemed like a perfectly pleasant woman."

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"No, I suppose not. In any case, it is nice to meet family." She peered at him critically. "Likely the right side of the family too, if the rumours about you are true."

"I'm in Slytherin if that's what you mean."

She smiled. "Got it in one. That house was always quite sacred to me, growing up a Black, and it served me well throughout Hogwarts."

He felt as though his guard had to stay up at all times around this woman for reasons he couldn't completely explain. "I've enjoyed my stay so far. It certainly keeps things interesting."

"Just watch that interesting doesn't turn to danger," Bellatrix warned him with that same, thin smile.

"I'll do my best."

"Where are my manners?" The woman asked. "Harry, Miss Weitts, I would like you to meet my husband, Barty Crouch, and our daughter and Heiress, Ares."

"How do you do, Heir Potter?" asked Crouch smoothly, dipping his head to Harry before extending his hand.

Harry took it. "Quite well, sir, and yourself?"

"Oh, wonderful. I have always enjoyed Samhain."

Charlotte and Ares had greeted each other, and now Harry turned to the youngest of the family.

"A pleasure, Heiress Black."

Her sharp eyes roamed over him, but her face did not change. "Well met, Heir Potter," she greeted him as he brushed his lips over her knuckles after inclining his head. The Blacks were a Founding Twelve family, and therefore, she outranked him just as Daphne did Malfoy.

"Well," said Crouch with a well-practised smile, "we must be off, but it was a pleasure to meet you, Heir Potter, and as much a pleasure as always, Miss Weitts." When they left, Harry turned to Charlotte.

"How old is she?"

"Who? Ares? She's my age — starts at Hogwarts next year."

"I would bet my family's fortune she ends up in Slytherin."

Charlotte laughed softly. "Her father was apparently a Ravenclaw."

Harry blinked. "I… would not have guessed that."

"I don't think most would have," Charlotte agreed. "Explains how he was overpowered in the war by a Gryffindor."

Harry smiled. "You seem to have your house loyalties sorted out quite early."

She shrugged. "There's nothing really wrong with Gryffindors, but if they were going to best a Slytherin, it would be in open combat."

Harry nodded. "You'll hear no arguments from me."

Harry met quite a few witches and wizards, with Charlotte in tow. He spent more time speaking with Cornelius Fudge, who apparently wanted to run for Minister of Magic next election. He also met Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the DMLE, though they exchanged only pleasantries, as well as a number of others.

Finally, Charlotte's mother appeared from the fray an hour and a half later. "Your Father wishes to dance with you," she told Charlotte, who nodded obediently and made her way to the floor. Before Harry could slip away, those magnetic eyes had fixed upon him. "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me for a dance?"

Harry internally winced but externally smiled as charmingly as possible. Dancing was not high on list of activities he might enjoy. Far too much physical closeness for his liking. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, ma'am. I never property learned to dance."

"No time like the present to correct such an atrocity," she countered with a small smile of her own. Harry thought it looked victorious. "If you have studied etiquette as closely as it seems, I'm sure you will manage."

And just like that, Harry had been effortlessly outmanoeuvred and cornered with one move. This woman was good

"If you insist," he said politely, having no real choice by this point. He was doing his best to hide the anxiety that was crashing against his consciousness in waves. He disliked being so much as touched, let alone being as close to somebody as dancing made inevitable. On top of that, there legitimately was the very real possibility he was about to make an idiot of himself.

He followed in Lady Weitts's wake until they were on the dance floor. Thankfully, she had not taken them to its centre. Then she stopped and reached for his hand. For a second, his grip on her larger hand tightened considerably, but he made a conscious effort to tone it down before slowly, unsurely, he placed his hand on her hip.

"See?" she told him. "You aren't completely inept."

If she noticed how tense he was as she led him through the motions, which he was sure she did, she did not comment. "My daughters seem very interested in you," she said casually.

"Your youngest, at least," Harry said quickly, clinging onto the conversation. Anything to focus on except their closeness.

Adriana chuckled. "Oh yes, Charlotte seems the keener of the two, but trust me, you have not escaped Grace's notice either."

He wondered how annoyed Grace would be with her mother giving away her secrets.

"You seem surprised?"

"A bit, yes," he admitted. "I would think that there would be better people for a sixth year to be interested in than a first year."

The woman looked at him pointedly. "False modesty is unbecoming of you," she told him. "Your deflection at the table was well done, but you did not deny that you are prodigious for your age with a wand, and there is a certain air about you, for those who know what to look for."

Harry didn't really know what she meant by that second bit, but he would remember it nonetheless.

"You can't tell me you would not be interested in yourself if the roles were reversed? The heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House who seemed to appear from nowhere and go the exact opposite way of the rest of his family?"

"I would probably be interested, yes." There was a moment of pause where Lady Weitts seemed to give him an opportunity to say more, but he did not.

When the song ended, they broke apart, and Harry visibly relaxed. "Would you mind pointing me to the nearest bathroom is?"

It was time to address the main reason he was here.

She smiled. "Of course. Walk out of the ballroom doors and down the corridor to the left. When there is a chance to turn left or right, turn left and it will be the first room you come to."

"Thank you."

Harry made a point of not being seen as he slipped out of the ballroom.

* * *

_**Ten Minutes Later...**_

When he returned to the room ten minutes later, he was quickly sought out by not just Charlotte, but Daphne too.

"Finally free from high society, Heiress Greengrass?" Harry asked with a grin.

Daphne glowered at him. "You say that while you're standing in a mansion's ballroom. Does the hypocrisy leave an aftertaste in your mouth?"

He chuckled in spite of himself. "That's a good one," he admitted. "I'll make sure to use that on you in the future. Oh, and it does — it's quite sweet, actually."

Charlotte couldn't help but giggle as Daphne just rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Yet you made it a point to find me."

"Because you asked me too…"

"The look of regret when you told me you were going off said it all."

Daphne made to bite back, but before she could, a scream rang through the ballroom, and everyone fell silent.

There was a blur of motion, and a man fell backwards. As he fell, something wrapped around him. A moment later, the gathered crowd realized that the something in question was a massive, ten-foot-long snake of a dark grey. The man, who Harry now realized with mild horror was Rufus Scrimgeour, struggled for a moment before somebody drew their wand and fired a spell at the snake. Evidently, whoever fired had no idea what they were doing. Instead of doing any good, the spell simply startled the snake — a black mamba, as a matter of fact, and caused it to sink its fangs into Scrimgeour's leg.

Harry's eyes widened.

'Shit!'

A second later, the snake was struck by another spell. This time, the caster, who Harry would later find out was Daphne's father, seemed to know what he was doing. The snake's coils went limp for a moment, and Scrimgeour, who was convulsing by this point, managed to pull free. As a crowd rushed forward to try and help Scrimgeour, the snake slithered up, in plain sight of the entire room, to a rather horrified looking Draco Malfoy, slithering up and around his arm.

The room burst into chaos.

'Well,' Harry thought darkly, 'it kind of worked.'

* * *

_**Ten Or So Minutes Earlier…**_

When Harry entered the bathroom in question, he reviewed his plan one final time.

Quite simply, if Malfoy wanted to play at frame jobs, Harry would happily play his game. He'd gotten the idea of summoning a snake from Higgs, who had used the trick in his duel with Grace, though it had done little to change the outcome. Harry had remembered the incantation, Serpensortia, and had studied it a bit. As it turned out, the conjured snake was supposed to be hostile or neutral to any but its conjurer. It was, however, supposed to be completely and utterly docile to its summoner and its summoner alone.

Unfortunately for Draco, that did not account for Parselmouths. They were the exceptions to that rule, as they could control snakes of all kinds.

"Serpensortia."

The black mamba that Harry could easily envision thanks to the imagery of Rex in the dungeons slithered from the end of his wand and looked around for a victim. Before it could decide to slither away, Harry surprised it with a hiss.

**"Wait!"**

The snake paused. _**"You speak?"**_ It asked

**"Clearly."** Harry hissed, as sarcastically as the language of snakes would allow. **"Can you understand and obey me like a normal snake?"** The mamba jerked its head in an unmistakable gesture of affirmation. **"Excellent. Listen closely…"**

Harry thought having a mamba knock someone to the ground before slithering obediently over to Draco Malfoy would be a rather clever political play, and would essentially ruin the boy's reputation, if not his family's, at least for a short time. He didn't want the snake to harm anybody, which he made very clear. Unfortunately, he could not plan perfectly for the future.

* * *

_**Back in the present...**_

It was pandemonium in the ballroom. Scrimgeour was immediately transported to St. Mungo's via an emergency portkey, made specially by Regent Weitts himself once an emergency bezoar had been shoved down his throat by Daphne's father. The Malfoys left in a hurry, with Lucius's firm hand clasped painfully tight looking on Draco's shoulder.

The gathering had sputtered out from there, as everyone's minds were now definitively in other places.

Even after all of that, the night and its surprises had not yet concluded.

Harry was the last guest to leave the manor, as he was the only one who would be flooing back to Hogwarts. All the other heirs and heiresses were flooing back to family homes. Before he could make it to the fire, an odd-looking creature popped into the room. Its skin was greyish and it had huge, brown eyes. It was quite short and wore a uniform embroidered with the same crest Harry had seen on the entrance hall floor. The same crest, that, as a matter of fact, he could see at this very moment.

"Yes, Hestia?" Lady Weitts asked the creature.

It looked up at her, wide-eyed. Harry, Grace and Charlotte, as well as Lady and Regent Weitts were all gathered in the room, as the latter four had been apologizing and sending guests off politely since they had to cut the gathering several hours short as a result of the fiasco.

"Hestia be receiving a message from H-H-Hogwarts, M-M-Mistress." Regent and Lady Weitts exchanged glances.

"What did it say, Hestia?" Regent Weitts asked the creature kindly.

It began to shake. "N-n-nobody can floo back to Hogwarts tonight, Master. The school is on l-l-lockdown." Harry's eyes widened as his heart leapt into his throat.

Even the Weitts's looked surprised. "Did they say why it is locked down, Hestia?"

"Y-y-y-yes M-M-Mistress." The elf took a deep, calming breath before it dropped the metaphorical bomb. "A student has been found dead."

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I would apologize for the cliffhanger, but ending social events with a bang when possible is sort of a tradition of mine.**

**The translation is courtesy of Yoshi89 from my Discord server. He specializes in a number of ancient languages and dialects. Frankly, that motto is an obscure dialect of Ancient Greek that is comprised in an unorthodox fashion. I wouldn't waste your time trying to translate it. It will be revealed in time.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on September 26th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898. **


	12. TFA Ch 11: Alliances & Atrocities

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Yoshi89 and Umar for their work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 11: Alliances & Atrocities**

* * *

_**October 31, 1991**_

_**The Gryffindor Common Room**_

_**8:53 PM**_

Charlus frowned at Ron, who was still digging ruthlessly into the desserts that had been brought to the common room along with the rest of the feast. The feast was continuing in the common rooms so students could safely finish the meal without worry about the troll.

"The troll couldn't have just snuck in," Charlus was saying. "The wards around this place are crazy."

Ron frowned. "You reckon someone let it in then?"

Charlus shrugged helplessly. "I don't see how else it could have got in. Trolls are definitely dark. They're wizard killers and their skin will deflect most magic."

Ron blinked. "You… uh… don't take this the wrong way or anything… but you seem to know a lot about some stuff, but then you're clueless about stuff like Potions and a lot of the Charms theory and stuff like that."

Charlus rolled his eyes. "I've told you," he said in a low voice, "Dad's made sure I've studied defence for ages. I didn't actually get to use the magic, but I studied a bunch of creatures and some spells." He shrugged. "I've known about trolls forever. I never studied Potions. And Charms… well, Dad was always more into Transfiguration. I think I'm pretty good at that."

Ron raised his hands. "I'm not insulting you, mate. It's bloody cool and all, it's just really weird how you can go from clueless to brilliant just like that."

"I don't know if that made me feel more or less insulted." Both boys snickered, but their humour was cut off by the magically magnified voice of Professor Dumbledore, which rang through every inch of the castle, sounding graver than any had ever heard it before.

"ALL STUDENTS ARE TO REMAIN IN THEIR COMMON ROOMS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE IS GIVEN. LESSONS ARE CANCELLED UNTIL ALL OF YOU HAVE BEEN TOLD OTHERWISE. ALL TEACHERS, PLEASE REPORT TO THE STAFF ROOM IMMEDIATELY, THANK YOU."

Everyone in the Gryffindor common room fell completely quiet for several moments before the room exploded in chatter.

"What do you think happened?" Ron asked Charlus.

"Surely the troll didn't… you know… kill anybody?"

Ron frowned. "Nah, can't have. They said it was dealt with, didn't they?"

"Yeah, but it could've got someone before it was dealt with."

The two boys exchanged nervous glances. "The cloak?" Ron whispered, causing Charlus to frown.

"What-"

"The cloak!" Ron continued in a low voice. "You wore it that night to the hospital wing!"

"Uh… yeah, I did."

Ron beamed. "We can sneak out under the cloak and go eavesdrop on their staff meeting!"

For a moment, Charlus looked frozen in shock. Then, his face split into a wide, mischievous grin as he clapped Ron on the shoulder. "That's brilliant!"

* * *

_**About ten minutes later...**_

Ron and Charlus slid effortlessly into the staff room. The door had been left open, as the teachers, who had escorted all the students to the common rooms, were clearly unconcerned about them approaching.

When the two first year Gryffindors slipped into the room, there was only Dumbledore present. He sat at the head of a long table, and the twinkle that was usually present in his eyes was noticeably absent. He was drumming his long fingers on the desk as if in deep, anxious thought. The appearance of Dumbledore like this, the man whom Charlus had known for years and never seen rattled actually sent a shiver up his spine.

Footsteps quickly came from the doorway behind them, and Ron had to stamp on the surprised Charlus's foot to get him moving. Both boys slipped to the far corner of the room, watching the professors file in and all take their seats. McGonagall and Snape sat closest to Dumbledore, with the rest of the staff filling out the table. Only when everyone was present did McGonagall speak.

"Albus, what's happened?"

Dumbledore seemed to slowly come out of a trance. His fingers stopped drumming and with what seemed to be a great effort, he opened his eyes, which he had closed some time ago. He looked up and at each of the professors in turn.

"There is no polite or eloquent manner in which I can break this news to you." When nobody so much as breathed, Dumbledore paused for a moment before speaking. "This evening, while dealing with the troll, I was alerted to the tripping of the wards behind the locked door on the third-floor corridor." If possible, the silence around the table seemed to grow heavier, even more oppressive. In spite of himself, Charlus felt himself lean forward. That horrible image of the three-headed dog had been permanently and vividly painted in his mind's eye. Perhaps now he would get the answers his father had most uncharacteristically refused to give him.

Dumbledore took another few seconds to peer at each of the professors in turn before he closed his eyes again and broke the news to the staff and, unknowingly, to Charlus and Ron. "I quickly left to investigate, and when I entered the third-floor corridor — I found a seventh year Slytherin student dead at the feet of the Cerberus." Almost the entire staff gasped as one. "It was… not a pleasant departure from the land of the living. Very… messy."

Ron gasped too, but thankfully, his sound of surprise was masked by those of the teachers. Charlus's eyes were as wide as saucers and his heart was in his throat as his skin lost all noticeable colour.

A student... dead?

"Who was the student?" Snape asked, and his voice was so soft, so fearful, that Charlus hardly even recognized it, and likely would not have at all if not for his eyes.

"Terence Higgs. I presume he took advantage of the chaos to go and investigate."

"Do you think it was him who let the troll in, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

Charlus and Ron were still so far in shock, they barely registered the impulse to lean forward and listen even more intently.

"Impossible!" snapped Snape. "There is no way Mister Higgs, an admirable student in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration but by no means a prodigy could have gotten that creature past the wards."

"I am inclined to agree with Severus," Dumbledore answered carefully. "The exception to this, of course, would be if Master Higgs was acting under the influence of another." He paused. "I wish this was unnecessary, trust me, but I must ask each of you to submit your wands for Priori Incantato." All the teachers nodded, ashen-faced. Nobody objected. "Amelia, would you be amiable to going first?"

"Of course, Headmaster." She stood, smoothly striding over to Dumbledore and handing over her wand. Charlus watched in fascination as Dumbledore pressed the tip of his wand to hers. His dad had told him about this procedure. It was one that was commonly used by the DMLE and was nearly impossible to fool.

The ghost-like re-enactments of Hurst's last number of spells flowed into the air. The only things revealed were older years' defence spells that Charlus did not recognize, but that she had demonstrated to her older students earlier that day.

One by one, Dumbledore tested the wands of each and every one of his staff members but found nothing. When the last wand, Snape's, had been checked, he sighed.

"My apologies. I do not mean to imply a lack of trust, but it would be a practice of malfeasance on my part if I did not at least check."

"W-What will happen now?" Flitwick asked, still sounding as horror-struck as Charlus felt. He had grown up hearing that Hogwarts was the safest place on earth and less than two months into his stay, a student had actually died — no, been killed. "Will the Aurors investigate, Albus? Surely you would not have them discover the stone?"

'The… what?'

"They will not. Due to the death of a student, they are permitted to investigate, as I am sure they will." He looked around at all of them. "As far as any of you are concerned under the questioning of the Ministry, Terence Higgs was murdered by the troll in the second-floor corridor nearest the out-of-order girl's lavatory." All the professors nodded mutely. "If the Aurors have no reason to investigate the third-floor corridor, I think it unlikely they will make a point of it. If they do, there are — other ways to ensure that most unfortunate event does not come to pass."

Snape sneered. "By which, you mean ensuring your lap dog leads the investigation."

"Severus-"

"I still fail to see, Headmaster, why you involved Potter at all."

Charlus bristled, but Ron took a firm hold on his sleeve. "That slimy-"

"I would trust James Potter with my life. Just as I would in the case of yourself." He peered at Snape intently. "If these events do come to pass, should this not answer that very question most precisely?"

Snape scowled. "If you told your dog to roll over, he would do so. You would not need to give Potter justification to follow you blindly, Headmaster."

"That is enough on the matter of James, Severus." Dumbledore looked around the room. "I must impose all of this information under the oath of secrecy you all took at the beginning of this school year in regards to the stone," he told them all. They all nodded. Dumbledore sighed once more. "I must go inform Bartemius of what has happened, and I shall likely need to meet with the boy's parents as well. Lessons will likely remain cancelled for the duration of the week and well into next, as I estimate the Aurors will call the castle home for at least that long. I would not have the students mingling about with Aurors in the castle." Dumbledore swept to his feet. "Well, I must be off."

As the teachers all filed out of the room, Ron and Charlus were left shocked at what they had heard, terrified of its implications, and curious as to whatever stone was so important that Dumbledore was willing to lie point-blank to the Ministry of Magic in order to keep it hidden.

* * *

_**October 31, 1991**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**10:43 PM**_

Harry's mask, this time, fell apart completely. Even all four members of the Weitts family showed varying degrees of shock.

'This day will just never end.'

"You're… quite certain, Hestia?" Regent Weitts asked, to which the elf nodded urgently.

"The Headmaster be telling the Hogwarts elves to come tell Hestia, sir."

"Who is it, Hestia?" Grace asked. Her voice was soft but remarkably still neutral. Harry had to applaud her. There was, he was quickly learning, a reason why she was at the top of the food chain in the house of cunning, and not all of it had to do with her wand work.

"They do not be telling, Mistress Grace." The elf answered. "Just that nobody can come back to Hogwarts 'til the Headmaster says it's okay, miss."

Harry's heart rate quickened. Now that the initial shock of that bomb had settled enough for him to implore a degree of cognitive thinking once more, Harry wondered what on earth that would mean for him.

Evidently, the Weitts Regent was thinking along the same lines. "Did the elves say for how long the students would be unable to return to the castle?"

The elf shook her head. "Just when the Headmaster says it is okay, sir."

"Thank you, Hestia." Lady Weitts dismissed the elf with a wave of her hand. There was complete and total silence in the entrance hall of Weitts Manor for several moments after the elf's departure.

"I suppose we best try and get a hold of Lord Potter, then." In spite of himself, Sigmund Weitts sounded rather unsure of himself. Harry tensed only for a second, but it was apparently enough to give him away.

"Isn't Lord Potter an Auror, Father?" Charlotte asked him, seeming to take the man a bit by surprise.

"He is. He's one of the three Senior Aurors along with Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Well… won't he be called to Hogwarts then?"

The Weitts parents exchanged looks and Grace shot a rather calculating glance towards her younger sister. "It is certainly a possibility." Regent Weitts answered. "But I imagine he would at least like to take his heir in for the night, and I'm sure he could come to arrangements after that point." Harry bit down hard on the emotion that threatened to show across his face.

"You do not wish to be sent to your Father, do you?" It was Lady Weitts who asked the question, and her stare seemed to make it oddly impossible for Harry to lie.

"I… can't say the idea is thrilling."

"Harry," Charlotte said with a roll of her eyes, "the gala is over. Stop dancing around the point — it's obvious."

Harry saw Grace's lips twitch as he frowned at Charlotte, who just glowered challengingly back at him. "I would rather not." he finally admitted. "But I don't exactly have much of a choice-"

"Nonsense," Lady Weitts cut in, surprising Harry once more, "Charlotte is likely correct that your Father will be called into Hogwarts, and if you don't wish to be sent to him, you shouldn't have to be." She turned to Charlotte. "Can you please show Heir Potter to one of the guest rooms, Charlotte."

Harry debated telling her something along the lines of she didn't have to do this. He didn't though. Partially because he had no desire to argue with the course of action, and partially because she obviously knew that already.

"It's settled then," said Sigmund. "I'll send an elf for your trunk from school and a letter to Lord Potter to inform him of the situation. Should I inform it of any other belongings?"

"No, sir. He always left everything in his trunk, which was protected by a Parseltongue password. Perhaps he was paranoid, but he preferred to define it as cautious.

"Well, that was easy," said Charlotte, beckoning for Harry to follow her. "This way." he followed her out of the room, and only once they were out of earshot did he ask the question.

"Why?"

She quirked an eyebrow but did not break stride. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

"You manipulated your parents into offering me a place to stay. I… appreciate it and all, but why did you do it?"

Charlotte's lips twitched, but she managed to suppress her rather obvious smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said brightly. "Anyway, Mother likes you."

He blinked. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Because she would have scoffed at the idea of housing you if she didn't," Charlotte told him bluntly. "I think she was on her way to offering you a room anyway."

Harry had no idea if that was true or not, and as such, he didn't really have a response. Charlotte led him to a rather beautiful painting of an overhead shot of a tropical island surrounded by the sea. She lifted her hand and pressed it flat against the painting, causing it to simply swing forward, revealing a hidden, narrow staircase.

As they climbed to the top of said stairs, Harry Ignored the rather jarring revelation that the manor apparently had secret passages and decided to try and get a lay of the land. "How many floors are there?"

"Three, not counting the basement. We're on the top one now. We were on the ground floor before, as I'm sure you probably guessed."

She led him down a long hallway and passed several ornate doors before stopping in front of one of them. "I'm in the next room to the left. If for any reason you need anything you don't trust an elf for, come and get me. A bathroom is attached to the room and if you want to summon an elf, just call Hestia's name."

"Wait, Charlotte… Was it that obvious? My relationship with my Father, I mean?"

"It depends on who's watching you, I guess. It was for me. You haven't spent as much time with him as is proper. If whatever I saw at the train station is true, which I'm certain it is, your childhood didn't look great." Harry flinched at the reminder of her seeing that memory.

"You didn't want to go to your family Manor, and you act surprised by something that is in most Manors of old or powerful families from what I know of. Your family has always been pretty secretive, so I'm sure yours is probably full of them. So yes, to me, it was pretty obvious you didn't get along with him, but I've been told I notice things I probably shouldn't at my age."

"You don't speak like somebody your age probably should," Harry added as an afterthought, mentally trying to figure out how he could be less obvious about his personal life in the future.

She laughed softly. "I've been told, but neither do you. Neither do most magical children. It's just how that works."

Harry blinked. "I've… never heard about that."

"I guess it isn't really taught. Basically, your body absorbs magic from all around you to use. Most of it gets projected back out, which is how you cast. A tiny amount of it always gets stores though. Not enough for it to even really be considered magic. At the end of the day, magic is a form of energy. When we store this little bit extra, it helps with a few things. It does give a slight increase to brain functions. Not a massive one, or anything.

"It doesn't necessarily mean we're smarter than muggles, but it does mean we can pick things up faster. That's why a lot of magical children have more advanced speech patterns. It's also why there's such a difference between noble and non-noble children. All of the noble families spend a huge amount of time on English, and since the kids pick it up faster, they usually speak much more advanced than they should for their age.

"This also works for healing in the same way. If a magical and a muggle both have the same injury, the magical will heal first if the conditions are the same. Not by a huge amount, but they will. Because some of that energy speeds up the healing process. It might be used for other things too, I'm not sure. Those are the two main examples that are already used."

Harry idly wondered whether that was one of the reasons for wide-spread bigotry against muggles, but he didn't comment on the thought. It was too late and he was too tired.

"We should really be taught this," he muttered.

"Yes, but everybody should really be taught a lot of things they aren't. Etiquette and such comes to mind. Just another way of making it harder for muggleborn and muggle-raised students."

Harry nodded. "Charlotte… thanks... for everything." Merlin, he was bad at thanking people. It wasn't as if he'd had a lot to thank anybody for in the past, so he supposed it was only natural.

She peered at him for a few seconds before answering. "You're welcome." She smirked. "You're too interesting for me to just let you go."

_**November 1, 1991**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**8:02 AM**_

Harry awoke early the next morning, still seemingly unable to curb years of habit in regards to his sleep schedule. The opportunity to truly examine his surroundings for the first time presented itself. He was in a massive room, and he meant massive. He wasn't sure if it was the size of the entirety of the Dursley's first floor, but if it wasn't, it was very close. The carpet was a lush red, and much of the room was open space. On the opposite side of the room from his bed was a titanic, walk-in closet that contained a generic, but tasteful looking wardrobe. Beside the closet was a door that Harry assumed led off to the bathroom. The door attached to the wall on his left clearly led out of the room. To the right, another door led out onto a beautiful balcony that overlooked a shimmering blue lake that seemed to sparkle invitingly in the early morning sunrise.

Not quite knowing what to do with himself once he had showered, Harry rummaged through his trunk and pulled from it his Transfiguration textbook. For the first time, he flipped to the second year portion and began to read, taking notes on his: questions, assumptions and, observations. He became so engrossed by the task that he didn't look up from the book until a soft knock resonated against the door. When he peered over the book, he had to blink at the sudden excess of light that had flooded the room since he had last paid any modicum of attention.

Getting to his feet and setting the book down, still open on the bed, Harry stepped in front of the door and pulled it open. Charlotte was there, dressed in far less formal robes than she had been dressed in the night before. These were a simple black.

"Good morning," she greeted him, still seeming a bit groggy.

His lips twitched. "Not a morning person, are you?"

"Obviously not as much as you. Breakfast is being served in the dining room if you'd like to come down with me. If not, you can have an elf show you the way later."

"I'll come." He wouldn't eat much, but he had been forcing himself to eat breakfast to the best of his abilities all school year, and this was about the time he would eat on a normal morning at Hogwarts. It wouldn't do for him to off-put his body's natural schedule. Charlotte nodded and gestured for Harry to follow her, which he did. "I don't suppose I could get away with that trick you used for the passage last night?"

"No, nobody but a Weitts could do that."

"I assumed as much, but it was worth a shot." A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "How does that work, anyway?"

"I have no idea. I would say you could ask Mother since she definitely knows, but it's family magic, I think. If it is, she wouldn't tell you even if she could."

He couldn't help but think that family magic sounded rather interesting. Absently, he wondered what the Potter family magic might include.

They slipped through the same passageway that they'd used the previous night and made their way down the narrow staircase. It took Harry's eyes a shockingly short amount of time to adjust to the darkness.

The walk was much shorter than the one to the ballroom. They promptly turned a corner and Charlotte pushed through a door, admitting them into the large, white-tiled dining room. Grace, along with Regent and Lady Weitts had already taken seats at the table.

"Good morning, you two," Lady Weitts greeted. Regent Weitts nodded his agreement but did not look up from the morning paper.

"Morning Mother, Father." Charlotte turning to her father. "Is there anything in the paper about Hogwarts?"

The man snorted softly. "Of course not. I doubt Dumbledore will let that information go public."

Harry twitched. He wanted so badly to ask so many questions, but he was ungifted at that in the best of times, and he was still a bit uncomfortable around this family, or adults in general.

"Is something wrong, Mister Potter?" Lady Weitts asked him. Harry noticed that she had dropped the title of "Heir". It was still formal, but much less so. He supposed it would only make sense, especially if they had the potential of spending multiple days together in the same house.

"Not at all, ma'am. Just… curious, is all."

"About what, exactly?" she asked him, folding her hands in front of her nearly empty plate as she focused her attention entirely upon him for the first time in a non-formal setting. Harry still found those eyes rather off-putting.

"Dumbledore," he admitted. "I know that he's powerful politically, but does he really have the pull to cover-up the death of a student?"

Lady Weitts sipped her tea before answering, but, to Harry's slight surprise, she did answer him. "I suppose, to use a quotation similar to the one you yourself used last night, it would depend on how you define a cover-up." Harry noticed that both Grace and Charlotte were also listening to the conversation attentively. "If you are asking me if he can keep the information from officially being made public, then the answer is almost certainly a yes, presuming that the cause of death is not proven to be overly dramatic. If you're asking me whether or not he can keep anybody outside of Hogwarts from knowing, then the answer is a resounding no."

"Do you think the students know?" Charlotte asked.

"Doubtful. They certainly know something has happened, though I doubt they know what."

"Surely they'll figure it out though?" Harry asked slowly.

Grace sniffed lightly in amusement. "You haven't been at Hogwarts long enough to understand how the rumour mill works."

Harry peered at her inquisitively. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Certainly." Grace acquiesced with a small smile. "There will be forty different theories out there by the end of the week, and everybody will be so overwhelmed by all of them that nobody will know what to believe."

"That seems… extremely counterproductive."

Grace's smile grew by the smallest of margins. "Quite."

Harry eyed the four of them critically for a moment. "I'm not one of Dumbledore's worshippers," he prefaced, "but, for some reason, everything I've heard about him doesn't make it seem like he would be the type to hide a murder from a school."

Something… odd flashed in Lady Weitts' eyes, but a split second later, it was gone, and Harry wasn't even sure he'd seen it at all. "No wizard alive has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore." It sounded quite significant somehow.

Harry's curiosity was piqued, but he got the impression that this was not a topic to push the woman on. Instead, he took a seat, pulling a small amount of fruit and a piece of toast towards him and he began to eat slowly. Regent Weitts stood during that time, bidding them all a good day as he left, likely to go and help run one of the Weitts's numerous businesses.

"What were all of your plans for the day?" Lady Weitts asked the three of them after a few long moments of silence.

"I have a couple of essays I may as well finish," Grace answered. "Aside from that, I'm not entirely sure yet."

Charlotte peered at her mother. "We're still having lessons today, right?'

"Of course." her mother told her. "After them, you will be free."

Charlotte shrugged. "Maybe I'll floo over to the Greengrass's to meet up with Daphne and Astoria if you don't mind?"

"Not at all." She turned to Harry. "And yourself, Mister Potter?"

Harry had to resist the impulse to answer hastily. "I don't really have a whole lot to finish, so I'll probably spend most of my time reading and studying."

"Admirable," Lady Weitts commended. "We have a family library if such a thing interests you. I only ask that you stay out of the rows nearest the wall opposite the entrance. They contain some rather… heinous magics that you do not need to be aware of as of yet."

Harry had to bite down on his surprise in order to stop it showing on his face. He had expected that the Weitts family would have a family library, but he had certainly not expected, not even in the slightest, to be given access to it. "Thank you, ma'am."

The woman nodded to him. "I'm sure Charlotte can show you there before she begins her lessons."

Ten minutes later, Harry was standing alone, staring in awe up at the towering shelves of books. It had a very different feel from the Hogwarts library. It was… more foreboding. Harry quickly scanned some of the shelves for tomes that might interest him. A very old looking book titled _An Entry to Obscure Curses_ caught his eye. It wasn't overly close to the forbidden section, so he doubted it contained anything too deadly. Some of the curses certainly seemed — questionable, but he doubted any were outright illegal. He had been going back and forth between that book and one on transfiguration for several hours when Harry heard Grace speak from behind him while he was reading the book on curses.

"Careful of that one." She indicated a curse that would not directly damage, but would greatly weaken a person's skin, making it prone to flaking, cuts, and a whole number of things that were not as pleasant. "It's not exactly legal."

Correction on the nothing illegal assumption.

"I doubt you'll report me," he answered carefully. He felt as if she was testing him.

Harry saw the ghost of a smile flicker on her face. "Hardly." After a moment, she waved her wand, causing a different, far larger book to come floating down to him from a shelf far closer to the forbidden section. The tome was massive. She directed the tome to land in front of Harry.

_The Subtleties of Deception, Detection and Defence._

"You will want to stay near the beginning of this book for now," she warned him. "But I think it has the potential to be… very useful; potentially for you, in particular." She gave him a pointed look. "That entire book is not strictly legal, so I encourage you to be careful with it."

Harry blinked. "Do you mean… I can-"

"Keep it," Grace told him with a nod, eyeing him speculatively. "I would hate to see your enemies strike back at you so soon, Potter, least of all when they are common between us."

Several messages were understood by Harry in the next few seconds. One, Grace knew or at least suspected that he had set up the incident with Malfoy the night previous. Two, she thought Malfoy attempting to strike back at Harry was highly possible, if not outright likely. And three, she herself wanted at Malfoy, potentially for hurting a friend of Daphne's, who may have also been a friend of Charlotte's. However, she couldn't involve herself directly with first year drama.

In general, the older Slytherins pretty much left well enough alone in terms of the first years. They would enter the fray in more extreme circumstances, but for the most part, they just observed.

Harry nodded, shoving his own book aside and reaching for the new one. "Thanks," he commented off handedly. Grace nodded, though Harry, who had lowered his head over the book in question couldn't see it. She made her way off for books to use as resources for her essay a moment later, leaving him alone once more.

The book was nothing like anything Harry had ever read or heard about before. It spoke of the concept of wards, something he had never really understood before. He had known they were protection of some sort, but nothing really beyond that. This book explained them in far more detail, but it also seemed to have instructions as to countless different wards. Also, Harry noticed, it had instructions on how to break them. He could see, now, without much issue how and why this book was completely and wholly illegal.

Illegal as it might have been, Harry thought this book would be dead useful, and he intended to put all of the book's contents to good use at some point in the future.

* * *

_**November 7, 1991**_

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**_

_**The Seventh Floor**_

_**7:38 PM**_

The next number of days were some of the oddest in Harry's life. The idea of spending his time at a manor was odd enough as it was, and that was before he considered the other four occupants of the home. Not that he interacted with any of them a whole lot. He spent the majority of his time locked up in the Weitts family library, at least while he was not spending time with Daphne. Usually, she came over to Weitts Manor, but Harry had visited her ancestral home twice as well.

He read quite a bit of a few books similar to the one on obscure curses and thought them rather useful. He read some more random tomes as well, and he spent a large amount of time nose deep in the book of wards, detection spells, anti wards, and some other similar magics that Grace had gifted him. It would be difficult for him to manage any of them at the moment, particularly with no knowledge of Ancient Runes, but he thought a proximity ward would likely be a good starting point.

Grace, like Harry, spent much of her time studying, though Harry suspected her own study was as much out of obligation as it was desire. Charlotte spent a fair bit of time at the Greengrasses', and some with him and Daphne, but she seemed to have morning tutoring sessions with her mother.

This, Harry noted, was one of the advantages that purebloods and wizarding families, in general, could easily lord over muggleborn and muggle raised witches and wizards. He had read through his book on the Wizengamot and looked for references to the Trace. It was hard to say, as Harry wasn't really equipped to decode all of the legal jargon involved, but it sounded, at least to him, as though the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot had written that law in a way that they could blatantly ensure their own children could remain ahead. Knowing at least a little bit about the politics that dominated Magical Britain, he suspected they probably had done it for that exact reason.

He respected the cunning on display, but he still harboured a fair bit of resentment on principle.

The students weren't allowed back at Hogwarts until the next Wednesday, a full six days after the events of Samhain. They weren't liable for the schoolwork they had all missed, as he found out upon his return to the castle that classes as a whole had been cancelled, but they were absolutely pounded with prep that first day back.

Upon their arrival back at school, one other thing that did not take long to establish itself once more was the house rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry had, of course, been mindfully aware of the rivalry since his first day at Hogwarts, but beyond the petty drama with students like Weasley and his brother, it hadn't really affected him all that much. He hadn't entered the duel back in September over house rivalries, quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.

Now, with Saturday's Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin fast approaching, the tensions between the two opposing sides were stronger than ever, and the hospital wing very suddenly had quite the large influx of arrivals.

Harry suspected Malfoy would have been directly in the centre of the fray, but the blond Slytherin first year had yet to return to the castle after the incident at the manor. Harry privately thought it had been a rather well-played move on the part of his parents. He was fairly sure that the house would have torn him apart upon his return. If Lord and Lady Malfoy waited, the storm would likely blow over.

That was not to say that Malfoy would get off scot-free, oh no. He was quite sure he would have a rough integration back into the house, but between his family name and older acquaintances, Harry was fairly sure that his plan had actually damaged the senior Malfoys, (who had been on the receiving end of a rather scathing article by a reporter by the name of Rita Skeeter in the Daily Prophet), as much as it had damaged Draco.

He didn't really care one way or another, if truth was to be toldr. He had accomplished his goal of political sabotage, and if the wider world looked down on Malfoy's family and by extension, him for at least a little bit as a result, all the better, in Harry's opinion.

For all of the supposed morals that Gryffindor House cherished, unfortunately for Harry, he found out that they, unlike Slytherins, had absolutely no qualms of taking advantage of first-year students. He found this out on Thursday night when he'd left for a round of exploration after telling Daphne and Tracey he would be back before curfew. After weeks of this, neither of them batted an eye anymore.

As Harry was examining a rather interesting tapestry on the seventh floor, however, double and triple-checking to assure no secrets were hiding behind it, he hissed in pain as a Stinging Hex caught him in the rear end from behind.

He spun, wand shooting from his holster only to freeze at the sight of four Gryffindors who looked to be at least fourth years.

The one in the lead, a tall, well-muscled boy with short-cropped dirty blond hair, chiselled features and dark-brown eyes just snorted with amusement. All four of them already had their wands drawn and aimed at him.

The boy in question smirked arrogantly at Harry. This boy reminded him painfully of Dudley, and that fact only made him angrier and more defiant. He was thoroughly covered, so escape was not an option. He had no way of creating a diversion or distraction and knew full well he had no chance against four fourth years. If he was going to be sent to the hospital wing, probably in a rather humiliating manner at that, he was at least going to show these bullies that he had a spine. He would go fighting.

Harry couldn't help but think how idiotically Gryffindor that sounded. He also realized he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter, so he just set his jaw and stared the quartet down the best he could.

"What are you going to do, firsty?" the leader asked with the same easy confidence that showed itself in his smirk. "Hit me with a tickling charm?"

His friends laughed, but Harry still did not take a step back. He could feel the tension building. He knew that any second, somebody would cast the first spell and all hell would break loose.

He was half right.

All four of them cast at once.

"Furnunculus!"

"Everte Statum!"

"Mucum Disrumpat!"

"Auge Coma!"

"PROTEGO!"

Harry countered with the first spell that flashed into his mind. He had never actually tested his shield against spell-fire, and the first time he had succeeded with it at all was when he'd used it to stop the troll, but it was the only spell he could think of with a chance of saving him here.

There was a distortion in front of Harry and a split second later, his shield flared as all four spells made impact. The shield collapsed, but it had absorbed all four spells to Harry's shock. The magical backlash of his shield being shattered sent Harry staggering backwards a few steps. Luckily for him, the others were as shocked as he was, so it took a moment before the next spell came; one that opened a nice sized gash on his cheek. He raised his wand, knowing that his effort was in vain but also knowing all too well there was only one way he would accept defeat like this…

"Everte Statum!"

"Lacero!"

"Ozio Fracto!"

"Tormensia!"

Four spells shot past Harry from the opposite direction, something that surprised him far more than his shield holding a moment earlier. The Gryffindors, who were completely caught by surprise, almost all fell at once. The dirty blond in the lead was the only one who didn't, having blocked the first spell. All three of his friends fell. One had a rather large amount of blood seeping from his leg. Another was on the ground, sobbing and clutching at his wand arm in apparent agony. The fourth was writhing on the floor as if he was being tortured. Vaguely, Harry recognized the last spell as one that Flint had attempted to use against Grace.

The only boy left made to aim at Harry again, a snarl of fury on his lips. Before his spell could get far, a shield shimmered in front of him and absorbed the spell without issue. Suddenly, Harry had a vaguely familiar girl at his side. He had seen her in the common room, but never interacted with her, as she was obviously several years older than him. She was average in height for her age and had a curvaceous figure accented by full, pink lips, soft facial features, golden-blonde hair and dark-blue eyes.

The Gryffindor hesitated.

"Where is that famous Gryffindor bravery, Prichard?" the girl said in a poisonously sweet voice. "What's the matter? Not so eager to duel when your opponent isn't a first year?"

The boy scowled. "There's four of you not including Potter," he dismissed. Harry glanced behind him. There were indeed three others: two girls and a boy, all seeming to be about the same age. The girls were both a couple of inches taller than the one who stood beside Harry, but not overly tall. They were both lean and athletic looking with light-brown hair, sharp features, and dark eyes. Harry noted that they were twins.

Seriously, how many twins were there in this place?

The boy was quite tall and well built. Not quite Crabbe and Goyle kind of brutish, but he was clearly large for his age. He had brown hair that was slicked back and blended well with his hazel eyes. There was a sharpness behind those eyes that Harry did not miss.

"I'll happily take you on alone, Prichard; if you're willing?"

The boy — Prichard, hesitated. "I'll bet you would, Rosier. I'm sure Death Eater Daddy's taught you all kinds of tricks." It was a decent quip, but Harry could tell it was a façade. He was nervous.

"Make one more comment about my Father, Prichard, and I won't leave you with the choice. Either duel me or take your friends and leave."

Prichard seemed to hesitate. Harry could see the exact moment that he backed down and could see the self-hatred flash in the boy's eyes as he helped his friends to their feet and led them off.

'Rosier,' Harry thought, 'Sacred Twenty-Eight — Ancient and Most Noble House — Conservative faction — potential Death Eater ties.'

"Are you all right, Potter?" Rosier asked him, prompting him to blink in surprise. He understood why they had backed him up. House unity was the number one unwritten rule within Slytherin, but he had expected them to leave as soon as the Gryffindors did. Unless they took house unity a bit more seriously than appearances.

"I'm fine, thanks. I'll just need to get this healed, I guess." He indicated the still bleeding cut on his cheek.

"I can fix that if you'll let me," Rosier twirled her wand around her fingers as she spoke.

Harry hesitated. He was not the trusting type, and a Rosier offering help to the halfblood brother of the Boy-Who-Lived screamed of a setup.

"I'm not going to curse you," she promised, her voice softening a margin.

Harry peered at Rosier intently and was sorely tempted to use Legilimency, as he now knew it to be called. In the end, he did not, though when he nodded, he did so extremely reluctantly.

"Come here." She tgestured for him to step a bit closer to her. Again, he hesitated but obeyed. She reached out and slid two cool fingers under his chin to tilt his head up to look at her. Harry tensed, but he resisted, with tremendous difficulty, the urge to flinch away. Rosier's eyebrow rose for a fraction of a second before she gently traced her wand over his cut, healing the wound without issue.

"Non-verbally at that." the older boy commended.

Rosier smiled, evidently proud of the feat. "With the amount I need that spell, I figured it was a good one to work on." She pulled her hand away from Harry's chin and extended it to him, a confident, winning smile on her lips. "A pleasure, Heir Potter. Calypso Rosier, Heiress of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Rosier. My friends," she introduced, gesturing to the three teenagers behind her who crept closer to them, "Flora Carrow and her sister Hestia; Heiress of the Ancient House of Carrow." Both sisters inclined their heads slightly to him, though their faces both remained impartial. "And this not so charming gentleman is Cassius Warrington Jr. Heir of the Ancient House of Warrington."

Harry saw… something flicker across Warrington's face. He thought it had been disgust, an emotion far too deep and real for the light jab, but he could have simply imagined it.

He formally greeted all of them before looking at Rosier. "Uh… thank you. Is-is there any way you would tell me that spell you used to heal my cheek?"

Rosier shrugged. "Seems harmless enough. The incantation is Episkey and there's no wand movement. Visualise what the process of the thing you want to be fixed would realistically look like and how it would be accomplished if you know what to imagine. If not, you can still pull the spell off, but it's more difficult and takes more power."

'Harry glanced at all four of them. It still baffled him why they had gone to such lengths for a halfblood first year who was related to The-Boy-Who-Lived, but he was hardly going to complain.

"You ought to be more careful the week of a Quidditch match," Warrington warned him quietly.

"I was just exploring. I wasn't expecting to get jumped by Gryffindor…"

"Fourth years," Rosier finished. "Same as the four of us. The one in the lead was Tobias Prichard, but he goes by Tobi and gets rather annoyed at the use of his full name."

Harry nodded, still a bit uncomfortable around these four.

"Well, I've done my part for house unity today," Rosier declared, shooting another smile in Harry's direction, though this one was smaller, more conspiratorial. "Come and sit with us in the common room or at a meal, Potter. We would be interested to hear about some… rumours that have gone around about you. Bring Greengrass, if you like, and Davis if you must." Her voice held no contempt, but Harry did not miss the phrasing, even if she didn't deny Tracey a spot. In fairness, he supposed that could have been as much due to her house standing as a result of the Malfoy incident as her blood status.

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Rosier. I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

_**November 8, 1991**_

_**A Room in The Dungeons**_

_**7:00 PM**_

By the time Friday came around, Harry had completed the mountain of prep they had been tasked with, something that absolutely astounded both Tracey and Daphne. "How far ahead are you?" Daphne had asked him with narrowed eyes.

He had shrugged. "If Weitts was being honest with me about the task involved, I could breeze through the Transfiguration exam. Charms would be doable, but that one will take a little bit of work to perfect."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Harry, it's November! How can you possibly sound disappointed?"

He had merely shrugged her off. That was far easier than explaining his need to outshine his brother and outstrip his father. Those were desires that Daphne, as much as Harry liked her, would not understand. For better or for worse, Daphne had grown up in luxury, with all of her needs essentially catered to since birth. She was the perfect personification of a pureblood princess.

That week's double Potions lesson had surprisingly passed without much issue. It had been Tracey's turn to go with Daphne, so Harry had paired up with Zabini, as was their normal routine by this point. Harry was rather impressed when his potion looked just as good as his friends'. Mind you, the other pair had finished before them, but not by much.

He was happy that he only had morning classes on Friday, as he had been rather distracted all day with the prospect of his "lesson" that night with Professor Hurst. As the day went on, his nerves only mounted, and he was eternally grateful he didn't have to perform transfigurations while his mind was firmly in other, unrelated places.

When the time had finally come, Harry tested the secret passage that Hurst had mentioned. Even though he had to go completely out of his way to reach that suit of armour, he found it cut the travel time nearly in half. How that worked, he had no idea, but he decided, for now, to chalk it up to magic and move on.

He took a moment to simply stand outside of the door and gather himself before slowly but resolutely, he knocked.

"Enter."

Harry pushed the door open and stepped into the room, instantly pausing in surprise. Apparently, Professor Hurst had seen fit to make some adjustments to the blank room. Several torches now hung from brackets on the walls, and on the wall furthest opposite Harry, there was a line of what appeared to be training dummies.

"I hope you have no objections to the changes in furnishing," she said by way of a greeting.

"No," Harry said reflexively, "of course not. I would have added some stuff too if I knew how."

Hurst eyed him. "You've been using this room fairly often then?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I use it to practice spells and such. I would use it to study with friends if I could, but we would need desks or something."

Hurst's lips twitched. "That could be arranged If your performance is up to par until — say — Christmas?"

Harry blinked. She had given him an incentive, and one he rather wanted to claim. "Thank you, Professor."

She nodded "Now," Hurst told him, "you told me that you wanted to know how to fight, correct?" Harry nodded. "Well, I spoke of foundations in the lessons. Though some of that speech was certainly for dramatic effect, I tend to practice what I preach. We shall start with the basics today: accuracy, proper stance, wand grip. If we get to dodging, even better. You will be practising a great deal of that while we work up to the… finer points." By finer points, Harry thought she meant actual magic.

That first night wasn't overly taxing magically. They ran through everything she had told him and had him work on his accuracy, which actually didn't seem half bad. She did, however, correct the way he attacked in general.

"You're too predictable," she said bluntly, "too readable. Your movements are sloppy and telegraphed."

Harry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Fire the full-body-bind at the dummy." He obeyed her, quickly drawing out the circular movement and stabbing his wand towards the target. "There," she indicated, "tighten your wand movement. If the circle is smaller, it is still a circle, and therefore satisfies the temporary necessity for the wand movement. When you stab your wand towards the dummy, wait until the last possible second; the same goes for any spell. You are aiming and then firing. Only point your wand at the target at the last possible second, thereby giving them as little opportunity as possible to react."

Harry couldn't fault that logic. "Yes ma'am. I understand."

"Good. Now, let us see it in practice."

* * *

_**November 9, 1991**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:06 AM**_

The tension in the Great Hall was greater than any Harry had ever experienced when he, Tracey and Daphne entered it the morning of Slytherin's first match of the season against Gryffindor. Harry's eyes quickly darted towards the Gryffindor table. Charlus was sitting with the rest of the Quidditch team. He was looking down at the porridge in front of him, appearing to be rather pale and more than a little bit nervous.

"I think my dear brother is feeling the pressure," Harry noted absentmindedly, drawing the attention of his two friends onto his brother.

Daphne's lips twitched and Tracey giggled. "He looks like he might throw up!"

Harry sighed dramatically. "Don't get my hopes up, Tracey."

"Do you really not like him that much?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "I actually don't care about him one way or the other, but it would knock the arrogant prat down a peg or two."

"Too true," Daphne agreed in a voice full of longing. When she made to take a seat at the end of the table, Harry caught her eye and subtly jerked his head to a place quite a way further up said table. Quite close to the middle, actually. Closer, as a matter of fact, than Malfoy and his group of friends sat before he was removed. Daphne's eyes widened and Tracey seemed as if she would ask something, but Daphne elbowed her subtly and the two of them followed Harry to a few empty seats near Rosier, Warrington, and the Carrow twins.

The conversation around them died instantly. Harry could have taken them up on their offer the day before, but he hadn't. He knew that if he did it the morning of the Quidditch match when everybody would be in the hall, it would make more of an impact. If people saw his alliance with four fourth year students who seemed to be regarded quite highly, they would probably get the hint that he was more than Charlus Potter's twin brother.

By the completely blank, completely indifferent mask worn by Daphne at present, Harry figured she at least knew exactly what was going on, if not the backstory behind it.

"Good morning Potter, Greengrass, Davis." Rosier greeted as the three first years took the seats nearest them.

"Good morning, Heiresses Rosier and Carrow. You as well, Heir Warrington, Miss Carrow." Harry reciprocated. "My two friends," he introduced, "Heiresses Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis."

The two girls received a smile from Rosier and nods from the other three. Warrington looked rather twitchy.

"Are you on the team?" Harry asked him, eyes narrowing.

Warrington nodded. "Was on it last year too. Chaser."

"Any idea what the Gryffindor team is looking like?"

"Their keeper is a mad man, but actually quite good. Their beaters are terrors, both on and off the pitch. Not sure about their chasers. Johnson was the only one on the team last year. She was decent, I suppose. And then there's your Brother."

"Wasn't… Higgs the seeker for Slytherin?"

Warrington sighed and closed his eyes. For a minute, Harry had thought he had gone too far, but the boy was answering a moment later. "Yeah, he was. Decent seeker. Nothing special, but decent."

"What happens now?"

"We're using David Makehay. He's a third year who came out for chaser and got picked up as a reserve." Warrington scowled. "He is no seeker, but he is a decent enough flyer that if your brother is useless, he'll be able to nab the snitch."

"You don't sound that confident," Daphne observed cautiously.

Warrington shrugged. "In the team, I'm plenty confident. In Makehay, not as much."

"Just make sure you're a hundred and fifty points up," Hestia Carrow instructed, identifiable from her sister by the heiress ring on her finger. "Can't be that hard."

Warrington snorted. "I'd love to see you try and throw a quaffle, Carrow, let alone score fifteen times."

"My apologies for not wasting my time on a completely useless sport." she retorted sharply. Warrington made to bite back, but Rosier cut him off.

"Yes, yes; Quidditch is a perfectly noble pursuit of your time and all of that. We've heard it a million times, Cassius." Warrington mock glared at her but did not have the patience to do much more than that.

They didn't talk much as they waited in the hall. Rosier asked Harry and Daphne questions here and there. She never really asked Tracey anything, but she had no objections to Tracey cutting into the conversation, as long as it was tactful. Tracey was unusually restrained today, seeming to have made an effort to be on her best behaviour. Harry appreciated it greatly.

Finally, the Gryffindor team got to their feet to thunderous applause from the Lions, Badgers, and about half of the 'claws. Charlus's legs appeared to be shaking, and Harry smirked. Evidently, Daphne saw them too because she smirked back at him. The applause for the Slytherins was more restrained, though Harry was quite proud that at least his house had the dignity not to boo the opposing team before they even left the hall.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry, Daphne and Tracey had gotten themselves seats and were watching intently as the players, each one being announced by Lee Jordan shot out onto the pitch. Harry rolled his eyes at Charlus's grandiose introduction and even more so at the tidal wave of applause that accompanied it. Wizards seemed to have done a lot of idiotic things over the years, though making a messiah out of a child was up there.

The match started off simply enough, if a bit brutally, but Harry could not help but be entranced by the game. He actually found himself envying Charlus for a moment before he ruthlessly squashed the emotion. That was a rabbit hole he did not need to go down. Slytherin was good, but Gryffindor was clearly better coordinated as a team. They struck early, making it 10-0. There was a moment of nearly unbearable tension when Charlus dove for the snitch, but Harry cheered passionately along with the rest of his House when Flint fouled him hard. Johnson scored the penalty, but Harry would much rather Gryffindor double their lead then win the game.

A few minutes later, Harry heard a gasp and looked up, only to frown in confusion. "Daphne, I doubt you're a Quidditch fan, by any means, but can you explain to me what the hell my brother is doing?" Charlus seemed to be jolting up and down swiftly, almost as if his broom was a bucking bull.

Daphne looked up and frowned too. "That's odd. Maybe he's just incompetent?"

Harry shook his head. "I doubt it. Father seemed quite the Quidditch fanatic. I doubt this is Charlus's first time around the block. Plus," he added with grudging respect, "nobody incompetent can make a catch like-" but he trailed off when Charlus's broom gave a particularly horrifying lurch and he nearly fell. Whatever Harry thought about his brother, he didn't want him to die.

"It's his broom!" squealed Tracey. "Look! It's not going where he's leaning at all!" True to her word, Charlus was visibly trying to counter-steer the broom to no avail.

"Is it possible to curse a broom?" he asked.

Daphne shrugged, trying to hide her concern. "It's possible to curse just about anything, but it would be extremely difficult to curse a Nimbus 2000, I'd think."

It had to be one of the teachers then.

Harry, completely ignoring Flint, who was taking it upon himself to score multiple times while nobody was paying attention, directed his omnioculars towards the teachers' section. Sure enough, he saw not one, but two teachers looking intently at Charlus and muttering.

Snape, and, to Harry's surprise, Sinistra, their Astronomy professor.

Neither of these options seemed overly likely to Harry. Snape hated his brother, that much was true, but it was also way too obvious if Snape did it. Plus, he thought if Snape were to kill Charlus, he would assure the body was never found, let alone seen. On the other hand, Sinistra had absolutely zero motivation to murder Charlus and if Harry was being honest, he wouldn't have thought her capable of it.

Something on the edges of the scene caught his attention. Harry saw a figure moving hurriedly towards Snape. A second later, Harry recognized a head of bushy, brown hair, and widened his eyes as he realized that it was Granger, of all people. On the way to Snape, she ploughed through Sinistra, who didn't even seem to realize Granger was coming at all. Harry had to suppress a manic laugh as Snape's robes were suddenly lit with what he recognized to be bluebell flames.

He would have to send her flowers.

He directed his eyes back up to the sky, where Charlus was flying normally once again.

Whatever his twin's drawbacks, Harry was happy for his survival, even if it did mean Slytherin quickly lost the match due to a rather dramatic catch on Charlus's part. The one thing that bothered Harry was that, in being too caught up watching Granger light his Head of House on fire, he had not looked up after Sinistra had been knocked forward.

He had no idea which of them was the guilty party.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**A bit of a different scene than what I'm sure many of you were expecting in terms of the match. Some of you have doubtlessly figured out what is going on here. For those who haven't, without spoiling anything, I would advise you not to extrapolate this too far onto other scenes and plots to try and answer some other burning questions.**

**It should be noted that I have not made any mistakes with the Priori Incantato scene. I am aware that canonically, it should have shown the AK performed by Hurst in the last chapter. There is a plausible reason it didn't, which will be revealed in year 1's final chapter.**

**Also, in the books, it's not said exactly how old the Carrow twins are. They are, at most, a year older than Harry, as they are at Hogwarts in HBP. Obviously, I have decided to change that, but I figured I would point that out before anybody attempted to correct me on it.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on October 11th, 2020 with the help of Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898. **


	13. TFA Ch 12: Developments & Destiny

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Yoshi 89 and Umar for their work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension**

**Chapter 12: Developments and Destiny**

* * *

_**November 9, 1991**_

_**The Grounds of Hogwarts**_

_**12:28 PM**_

The moments that followed what Charlus considered to be a rather impressive catch of the snitch were a blur of motion and chaos. He remembered being hoisted onto the shoulders of his teammates, remembered being swarmed by the near entirety of Gryffindor and even remembered catching his brother's eye as he was making his way out of the stadium. The brothers only shared a brief nod, but to Charlus, that may have been as valuable as any congratulations. His bubble of euphoria didn't remain intact for long, as he and Ron quickly began to make their way towards Hagrid, only to find him standing in the doorway of his hut and arguing with an irate looking Hermione Granger.

"I'm tellin' ya," Hagrid was saying, "Snape's a teacher, Hermione, he would never-"

"I saw him, Hagrid!" Granger bit back, and Charlus nearly flinched at the heat in her voice. The movement caught Hagrid's attention, and he smiled a rather relieved looking smile in their general direction.

"All right there Charlus, Ron? Care for a cup o' tea?"

"Yes please!" Charlus answered quickly, running a hand through his still windswept hair that was now somehow even messier than usual.

Ron cleared his throat as they entered the hut with a look towards Hermione. Charlus shrugged, indicating that he had no more idea of what was going on here than Ron did.

"Tha' was sum match, eh?" Hagrid asked them as he bustled around his teapot. "The Slytherins were all o'er yehs."

Charlus scowled. "I'd have had the snitch a lot earlier if Flint didn't decide to be a wanker about it."

"It was a good block though," Ron admitted grudgingly. "Bloody dirty, but a good block." He turned to Hagrid. "Do you reckon that's what messed with Charlus's broom, Hagrid?"

"Nah, no bump like tha' could hur' a Nimbus 2000. Usually only dark curses 'n such could do some'in like that."

"Mmhm," Hermione said rather smugly.

Ron, who was not an overly patient person in the best of times, turned to Hermione. "I… err… don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?"

Hermione quickly bristled, and Charlus could practically see her reflexively revert to a defensive posture. "I was trying to tell you two why Charlus's broom made an attempt to kill him, but if you would rather I didn't-"

"No," Charlus cut in quickly, eyeing Granger up and down. She was a lot of things. She was annoying at times and overbearing constantly, but Charlus didn't really dislike her. He could admit, if nothing else, she was brilliant. "What do you think happened?"

Hermione stuck up her chin, suddenly looking to Charlus a lot more like a pureblood heiress than a newly discovered muggleborn. "I don't THINK anything! I KNOW what happened!" Hagrid grunted; apparently, they were drawing awfully close to the topic of whatever argument the two of them had been having before Charlus and Ron had arrived. "It was Professor Snape! He was cursing your broom; I saw him!"

Charlus's eyes widened as his jaw fell open. Beside him, Ron had much the same reaction, as both of them just stared at Hermione, aghast.

"You're… uh… sure?" Ron asked, sounding sceptical.

Hermione huffed. "Of course I'm sure! I've read all about curses, you see, and one of the characteristics of curses like that — from far away, I mean, is that the person doing the cursing has to maintain eye contact the entire time." She looked pointedly from Ron, to Charlus to Hagrid. "I was watching Professor Snape with the Omnioculars, and he was looking at you the entire time, Charlus. He didn't break eye contact once, and he was muttering under his breath."

"Why would Professor Snape try 'n kill Charlus?" Hagrid snorted. "I'm sorry Hermione, but tha's ridiculous!"

"He and Dad hated each other," Charlus said thoughtfully, dread and realization suddenly spreading through his veins. "Dad said — well, he never explained it, but he said he was sure Snape would do him in if he could. I think something major happened in their school days. Something more than them just hating each other, I mean."

"Professor Snape wouldn't curse yer broom!" Hagrid argued defiantly. "What Hermione must o' saw was Professor Snape mutterin' the coun'er-curse!"

"Hagrid, I've told you this already! When I saw that Snape was cursing your broom," she said, turning to look at Charlus, "I went over to stop him. I… um… used bluebell flames on his robes. As soon as I did that, he looked away from you, and your broom was fine."

There was suddenly a deafening kind of silence in every square inch of the small hut. Normally, Charlus would have laughed openly at the idea of Snape with his robes alight. At the moment, with everything else weighing so heavily in the air, he couldn't find the humour within himself. Neither, apparently, could Ron, who sat as stone still as one may expect from a thousand-year-old statue.

Charlus was gaping at Hermione again. "You… you saved me?"

Hermione looked back at him, seemingly just as confused. "Of course I saved you! I wasn't just about to let you die!"

Charlus nodded mutely before turning to Hagrid. "She's right, Hagrid. It must have been Snape. He has a reason to do it, and she's right about curses; I've been studying that stuff for ages. It had to have been Snape, there's no other solution."

"I bet he let the troll in, too!" Ron said, sounding positively gleeful.

Charlus nodded. "Yeah… yesterday — his leg. You reckon?" he asked, remembering Snape's horribly mangled leg in the staff room.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do actually."

"He probably tried to steal whatever that three-headed-dog is guarding." It wasn't until the words had already left Charlus's lips did he realize what a mistake they had been.

"Three-headed what?!" Hermione shrieked in horror, clasping her hands over her mouth.

"How did ya find out about Fluffy?" Hagrid asked, looking every bit as surprised as Hermione.

"Fluffy!" Charlus heard Ron mutter.

"I… uh… we… uh, had a bit of an… accident." He looked at Hermione with a gleam in his eye. "That's what's in the third-floor corridor that Professor Dumbledore warned us about. It's guarding something — standing on a trapdoor — some kind of stone, we think?"

"Some kind of… stone?" Hermione asked, blinking back her obvious shock and confusion. "What kind of stone would be worth stealing in the first place? Let alone hiding it behind a Cerberus?"

They all looked at Hagrid, but he just glared back at them angrily. "You lot stay away from Fluffy and tha' corridor, ya hear? What Fluffy's guardin' ain't none o' your concern. Tha's between Professor Dumbledore 'n Nicholas Flamel." Then he froze, a horror-struck look crossing his gigantic face as he realized what he had said.

"So there's somebody named Nicholas Flamel involved!" Hermione noted victoriously.

"I should not o' said that," Hagrid muttered ashamedly. "I definitely should not o' said that."

"Well," Hermione said briskly, "I'm off to the library to research magical stones and Nicholas Flamel." She looked at Ron and Charlus. "You could… help me if you wanted?" The statement sounded more like a question to Charlus, and the brilliant muggleborn that carried herself with so much confidence in lessons suddenly seemed terribly uncertain of herself.

"Yeah," he answered, smiling his most winning smile at her to try and put her at ease, "yeah, I think we will. What do you say, Ron?" Ron nodded eagerly. "We'll be up in a bit," Charlus said, gesturing for her to go. "Hermione… uh, thanks for… you know? Umm, saving my life and all."

Hermione smiled, holding out a shaking hand. "That's what friends are for, right?"

Charlus beamed at her and took the hand firmly, the way his father had told him to shake hands from an early age. "You bet!"

* * *

_**Later that night, in the Slytherin common toom**_

Harry, Tracey and Daphne had occupied the abandoned room in which Harry practised with Professor Hurst for much of the day. Harry had told them what he'd seen and the two of them seemed hell-bent on debating. Tracey thought Snape was the culprit, where Daphne was certain it was Sinistra.

"Snape would never do something like that out in the open, Tracey!" Daphne had argued exasperatedly.

"Don't you see it, Daphne? That's the brilliance of it! The only people smart enough to punish Snape would be the people with the power to do it. But, like you just said, they'd never blame Snape because they'd think it's too obvious. Besides," she scoffed, "why would Professor Sinistra kill Charlus?"

"It is too obvious, Tracey — that's the point! Any plan that relies on other people's intelligence is a bad one and how am I supposed to know? There's strength in anonymity; maybe she's not Sinistra at all. Maybe she's under Polyjuice potion or something-"

"Poly what?" Harry asked absentmindedly, pausing his quill. He was not overly interested in this debate, so he had chosen to write an essay instead.

"Polyjuice Potion," Daphne said shortly. "It's a potion that lets you basically transform into somebody else. You just need a bit of their hair or any bodily piece; toenails, eyelashes, flaked off skin. Most use hair to add to the potion. Oh, plus you need to be sure that they are most definitely human."

That seemed way too easy to abuse but as Daphne enlightened a minute or so later, possession of it was illegal. Not to mention both the potion and its ingredients costed a fortune. Most people were simply priced out by default.

By the time the three of them returned to the Slytherin common room that night after dinner, their argument had still not blown itself out, but Harry found himself more interested in a different kind of mystery.

When the students had returned to Hogwarts earlier in the week, it had been announced that Terence Higgs had died in a tragic run-in with the troll. Harry hadn't really thought on the matter until Higgs's name came up that morning in conversation with the older Slytherins. But come to think of it, he had been face to face with the troll, as a matter of speaking, and he was pretty certain it hadn't killed Higgs. Trolls tended to make a mess of their victims, and there hadn't been a trace of blood anywhere to be found.

So, as Harry spotted a girl with shiny, black hair scribbling away at an essay in the corner alone, he casually stood from his seat and made his way towards her. Daphne and Tracey were so entrenched in their own whispered debate that they didn't even notice the movement.

"Good evening, Heiress Parkinson." Harry said politely, calmly sliding into the seat beside her after whispering "Muffliato" to make sure they would not be overheard.

Her quill did not stop scratching. "Potter."

"You've been sitting alone a lot since Samhain." Both of them knew that was because Malfoy was not at Hogwarts, but neither of them said it.

"I fail to see why that's any of your business."

"I'm only being polite, Parkinson."

Finally, her quill stopped writing and Pansy focused her brown-eyed stare upon him. "No, you're not," she told him with crossed arms. "You want something from me, so get to the point."

Harry couldn't help but notice the way she seemed to try and dismiss him. It was both extremely irritating and mildly amusing. In the end, he decided to show the former with a twitch of his lips. "Blood matters, Parkinson, but ability matters more. Do you know who said that?"

She glared at him for ignoring her queue to get to the point. "I don't know, Dumbledore?"

"Hardly. It's probably been spoken by a lot of people, but it's most famous user was Gellert Grindelwald." Parkinson's eyes widened a fraction. "Between the two of us, I tend to agree with that line. My point," he continued, "beyond the fact that you shouldn't underestimate me because of blood, is that you shouldn't assume anything about people or things you know nothing about."

Her look still wasn't complimentary, but it had cooled a margin. "Fine." she conceded. "Now, what is it you want? I doubt you're enough of an idiot to think you could change my opinion over the course of a conversation."

Harry snorted. "No, that would probably be my Brother." He leaned towards her. "I have it on good authority you're pretty tuned in to what goes on in the castle?"

Translation, nobody, perhaps not even any of the upper years were more in tune with the Hogwarts rumour mill than Pansy Parkinson. If anybody could sort out the truth about something, it was her.

"And if I am, what good is it to you?"

"I guess that depends on whether or not you're willing to do me a favour."

Pansy looked at him with the appearance of someone seeing him for what he was at long last. "What do I get out of it?" she asked him curiously. "If you need help with it, it would probably take up a lot of my time."

Harry nodded reasonably. "What would you like out of it?"

"I have three conditions," Parkinson said curtly.

"Which are?"

"You leave me out of any spat between you and Malfoy."

"That can be easily arranged."

She hesitated. "If I… see you and your group of friends as the more advantageous party, you will grant me entry into the circle."

Harry raised an eyebrow. It was clever, but there was a whole in her logic. "Why would you assume I can make that promise? Daphne outranks me politically."

She smiled knowingly at him. "Let's just call it a gut feeling and go from there, shall we?"

Harry shrugged. He figured it wouldn't be all that hard to meet her demand whether her assumption was correct or not. "Done."

"Final condition; I want a favour at a later date."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he thought rapidly. "Nothing that could be used against me, my friends or my family in any way, shape or form."

For a second, Parkinson's eyes flashed but then she smiled. "I've underestimated you again, Potter," she admitted casually. "I'm impressed. That sounds perfectly agreeable to me."

"Then we have ourselves a deal." He leant forward, his eyes taking on a faint glow that put Pansy immediately on edge. "If you could find out, Parkinson, I would like to know what really happened to Terence Higgs."

* * *

_**November 29, 1991**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons**_

_**7:00 PM**_

Mercifully, the weeks after the fiasco that had been the opening Quidditch match of the season decided to give Harry a mild reprieve, something he was immeasurably grateful for after Samhain and its aftermath. He had managed to get Calypso, who had asked to be called by her first name, to tell him what the end of year examinations entailed for the first years. He'd wanted to cross-reference with what Grace had told him, to be sure that it didn't change with the year. It didn't. He had, as a result, been making sure that he could not only perform the tasks perfectly, but he had been coming up with impressive ways he could top them in order to earn the O+'s that he was looking for.

An O was not overly rare at Hogwarts. Usually, most subjects had a couple of Os at least given out within each year set. Defence, Potions and Transfiguration were the notable exceptions, where it was rather difficult to achieve an O, but it was still rather rare that a year passed with nobody in the year set managing an outstanding. On the other hand, an O+ was extremely rare.

Harry had found this out while scouring the old records kept in the library. It turned out that his grandfather, Charlus Potter Sr. had been one of two students who had the honour of saying they were the first of the century to pull it off. He had managed to achieve an O+ in Defence Against the Dark Arts in 1939, during his fourth year; a feat he repeated in the subject each year until his graduation. He'd even earned the grade in Transfiguration during his last three years at Hogwarts, making him one of only a handful of students in history to receive the mark in multiple grades on the O.W.L and N.E.W.T exams.

The other student, however, interested Harry just as much, if not more than his grandfather. Though she didn't have a name like Potter behind her, a student by the name of Emily Riddle had proven in her first year, (the same calendar year as Charlus's fourth) that she was a prodigy among prodigies. In her first year, Riddle achieved the grade of O+ in Charms, Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, a feat that had never been done before. The first year joint record for O+s had been two.

Most recently before Riddle had come around, it had been achieved by Albus Dumbledore in 1893, when he earned the mark in Charms and Transfiguration. Before him, Emeric Emalaus was the most recent, having managed O+s in Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts in 1402. The only other student in history to earn two O+s was a part of Hogwarts' first ever school year when Myrddin Emrys, (the man who would later be known as Merlin) achieved it in Charms and Transfiguration.

Riddle had outperformed even him with her three O+s, a feat she equalled the next year. By the end of her third, she had added Transfiguration. On her O. she had achieved O+s in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions and Transfiguration. That had broken the previous record of Albus Dumbledore, who had managed it in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration. She edged him on N.E. as well. They both managed all the marks they had in their O. , and each of them had received an O+ in Alchemy; a class for N.E.W.T students that was no longer offered.

Harry had gone down a bit of a rabbit hole searching for Riddle's accomplishments after Hogwarts. There honestly wasn't a lot. She had apparently been a key player in one of the final battles of the Blood War. According to the records, she'd held off Grindelwald personally during The Battle of Katalysator until she and Dumbledore together had driven him off. After that, there hadn't been a mention of her in any avenue he had tried.

In large part thanks to his memory, Harry did manage to connect her name with a mystery that had been pressing at the back of his mind for months now.

_"__**Silence!**__"_

_Somehow, this hiss sounded more powerful than the rest. It was, if such a thing was possible at all in the language of snakes, a rather authoritative statement. Slowly but surely, all the snakes depicted around Harry fell silent and one of the largest snakes Harry had seen slithered its way into the painting directly in front of him._

_A black mamba!_

_The snake was, contrary to what many may believe by its name, a dark, greyish-brown colour, though its belly was noticeably pale, especially in contrast with the rest of its body. Though Harry could not see inside the creature's mouth at present, he knew that if he could, he would see an odd, inky-black coloured maw. It was, as a matter of fact, the reason the snake had been given its name at all._

_The snake surveyed him with dark, black eyes; eyes that were surrounded in a pale, yellow colour. "__**You speak?**__" the snake hissed. Harry almost jumped when he realized that he was the one being addressed._

"_**Not a great question considering I could technically speak English and you'd never understand me, but I know what you're getting at. And yes, I speak."**_

_Harry could have sworn the snake sneered at him._

_"__**With a bit too much cheek for my liking, but it does indeed appear that you speak.**__" The snake surveyed him more critically, seeming to be sizing him up. If the serpent in front of him was not confined to a portrait, Harry very much doubted he wouldn't have already fled. "__**What is your name, human?**__"_

_"__**Harry.**__" he hissed back, having to put less thought into the language the more he used it. '__**Harry Potter.**__"_

_"__**Potter, you say?**__" hissed back the Mamba. "__**We have never spoken to any with that name, though it has been many years since we spoke to any at all.**__"_

_"__**How long ago?**__" Harry asked._

_"__**Time is difficult, immaterial to portraits, and you humans think about it more than us snakes. I do not know how long it has been, but it has been a long time.**__"_

_"__**Can you tell me who the last one was to speak to you?**__"_

_"__**She did not give us the first name as you have done,**__" the mamba informed him. "__**Her surname was unique as well. We had never heard it before her arrival.**__"_

_"__**What was it?**__"_

_"__**Riddle.**__"_

Well, he supposed that question had been answered, at least.

He supposed it was possible that Emily had not been the only Riddle to attend Hogwarts. At the same time, she fit the description perfectly and had been a prodigious Slytherin student. It all lined up too well.

Except for the fact that if anything, her Parseltongue ability only made it all the more strange that she had not ascended to admirable heights after Hogwarts.

'Unless she left the country?'

Harry supposed that it was possible if the stigma about Parseltongue had truly been that bad fifty years ago. Either way, he decided he really couldn't solve the mystery one way or another, at least not to completion, so he let it drop.

As for the grade of O+, it had only been achieved by nine other students this century. Minerva McGonagall had earned the grade throughout most of her Hogwarts career in the late 1940s and early 1950s, a feat matched by another student in a similar time frame. Sigmund Lockhart had earned the grade in Charms and Transfiguration throughout his Hogwarts tenure proceeding his third year in the mid to late 1940s. Alastor Moody had received it several times during the 1950s in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Bellatrix Black had done the same in the mid to late 1960s.

In the 1970s, four Hogwarts students had achieved the grade. Coincidentally, two of them happened to be Harry's parents. His mother had done it in Charms and his father in Transfiguration. Bartemius Crouch Jr. had achieved the mark from his fourth year onwards in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he had also managed the grade in Transfiguration and Potions on his O.W.L exams. He had not replicated that feat exactly on his N.E. . Instead, he managed it in Defence, Transfiguration and Charms. The other, just as odd to think about, in Harry's opinion, was Snape; who had achieved the mark every year in Potions and had also pulled it off in Defence during his last three years at Hogwarts.

Since the graduation of Harry's parents and Potions professor, Hogwarts hadn't seen the grade recently with one exception. Grace had managed it from her second year onwards in Charms. To achieve an O+, one not only had to perfect the exam itself at the end of the year, but perform a personal showcase during it that went above and beyond the scope of the examination itself. Even then, it was still at the discretion of the professor whether or not they granted the exceptional grade to the student. Harry was determined to add his own name to that illustrious and prestigious list.

He was certain he could do it in Transfiguration, as he already had something planned after reading through much of the second-year material in the last number of weeks. Charms would be more difficult, and he had no ideas as of yet, but he was sure he would come up with something. Defence too, he thought was possible, but he had no idea what he could do, and he figured Hurst would be a brutal marker.

Speaking of Hurst, they had gone through two lessons in the weeks following the Quidditch match. The first had been much like the week previous, with an emphasis on stance, accuracy and dodging. The next week had been a bit of that too, but Hurst had also gone over a variety of situations, explaining what kind of spell would be apt in each and why. Harry had found that rather interesting. She had also asked him for a list of all of the spells he knew that he thought would be useful in combat. Now, as Harry knocked on the door to enter his fourth session with Hurst, he awaited her verdict and was interested to see what they would do that night.

After entering on Hurst's command, Harry quickly took a seat on one of the two chairs his professor conjured from thin air with a wave of her wand.

"I was impressed," she told him. "Frankly, I doubt any first year has your repertoire of spells at the moment, but it is still limited enough that you would struggle against any with more diverse attacks." She eyed him critically. "The Protego shield did admittedly jump off the page for me. Are you simply aware of the spell, or can you actually cast it?"

"I can cast it." Harry was trying hard not to smile as he saw surprise briefly flash in her eyes. He was still rather proud of that accomplishment, and privately, he thought himself perfectly justified seeing as it was a fifth year spell.

"Show me," she ordered, getting to her feet and drawing her wand. Harry stood and raised his own wand in a defensive position. Without warning, his professor sent a Stinging Hex towards him at high speed, but he managed to snap off his shield in time. Hurst examined it for a few moments before nodding in approval. "It is not perfect. It will take more practice to increase its potency, but it is remarkable you can cast one at all, let alone with such admirable proficiency." She smiled thinly. "Tonight, we are going to see if we can add a tool or two to your offensive arsenal, as well as continuing to shore up your defence. A strong defence is essential, but it will only delay the inevitable if you are incompetent in regards to attacking."

Harry struggled to keep the grin off of his face. He managed, but barely.

"We will start on the defensive," Hurst decided, "since the spell I have in mind is less difficult to cast. The spell is called the Impediment Jinx, and the incantation is Impedimenta. There is no necessary wand movement. The effect of the spell is to slow the path of an object or living being for five to ten seconds. Just focus on that intent while casting the spell. Once you become familiar enough with it, you won't need to think it all."

"I was wondering about that. Spells like Wingardium Leviosa and Tempus. When I first started with them, I needed to visualize the effects of them but now, I can do them without a thought. Just the incantation is enough."

"To say magic is a muscle is extremely oversimplified and cliché, but it does summarize the general idea. Your magic is linked to you as a human being, even though we have no magic within us. The more you cast a spell, the more you will gain an affinity towards that spell. Wizards like our Headmaster would need to think barely, if at all." Harry nodded; it made sense. "Now," said Hurst, waving her wand and conjuring a dog from nowhere, "you will test the spell on the dog, as a stationary dummy will not grant you the desired effect."

Harry practised with the impediment jinx for a while. He got the spell quickly, but the dog only paused for a couple of seconds. By the end of his practice, he had managed to consistently freeze it for ten seconds, and the spell was already becoming near automatic.

"Now," Hurst told him with an odd gleam in her eye, "let us try something a little bit more… offensive." She whipped her wand towards the dummy, which was charmed to react to spell-fire as a human would.

"Impulsum."

A jet of purple light streaked from her wand and smashed hard into the target's chest. The dummy collapsed to its knees and promptly curled in on itself.

Harry's eyes gleamed. Now this would be useful magic in combat.

"The Bludgeoning Curse." Hurst enlightened him. "It is an impact based spell that will drive a considerable amount of force into your opponent. Know that the range of impact is about the size of a football, so aim with that in mind. You've heard the incantation already, and the wand movement is a sharp jab towards your target."

The Bludgeoning Curse was indeed much more difficult than the impediment jinx. His professor told him not to be discouraged, as it was a fourth year spell in the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Yet by the end of the lesson, Harry had no reason to be discouraged, as he could consistently cast the spell. Unfortunately, it still required a great deal of focus and concentration.

"This has been excellent!" Hurst told him with a genuine smile. It was rare she complimented him so freely and openly. "Impressive, extremely impressive indeed. For obvious reasons, I do not want you practising the Bludgeoning Curse on other students, but keep the visualisation in mind over the next week. We shall begin our next session with a quick run-through of the spells you have learned tonight."

Harry nodded, unable to keep the wide smile off of his own face. "Yes ma'am. Thank you, Professor."

* * *

_**December 9, 1991**_

_**The Library**_

_**8:06 PM**_

Charlus, Ron and Hermione all sat back in their chairs, deciding as one to take a break from their still fruitless search for Nicholas Flamel.

Over the past number of weeks, much of Gryffindor house had noticed how suddenly, the inseparable duo of Charlus Potter and Ron Weasley had added a third, rather unlikely member in Hermione Granger. At first, many had been curious. After countless deflections from the three new friends, the house had uniformly decided it was best to leave them alone.

That was something that relieved the three of them greatly, even Charlus, who rather enjoyed being the centre of attention. After all, some things just didn't lend themselves well to being explained. In Charlus's opinion, chief among them was the fact that, after having your life saved by somebody and then spending hours on end with them going over research and conspiracy theories, you just naturally became rather close with them rather fast.

"If you're not going home for the holiday," Hermione was saying to Charlus, knowing full well he wasn't, since he had signed his name on the list of those staying behind for Yule when Professor McGonagall had brought it to the Gryffindor table that morning at breakfast, "then I still say you should owl your Dad. He doesn't really seem like the type to keep information from you."

"We've been over this, Hermione," Charlus said tiredly, rubbing at his temples. "Dad's usually not that kind of person, but he's been right uptight about this whole thing. When I mailed him about the dog ages ago, I got the most to the point, the most formal letter I've ever seen him send. He just told me to stay out of it, and that Dumbledore knew what he was doing."

"Course he does," said Ron through a yawn, "he's Dumbledore, isn't he?"

"It does seem very irresponsible to put something like that in a school," Hermione said sourly. "Whatever he's hiding must be really valuable if he would risk that. Are you sure you couldn't just ask your Dad about Nicholas Flamel? I mean — be subtle, of course."

Charlus shook his head. "He'd know what I was getting at; he's not stupid. He got into all sorts of mischief at Hogwarts. For him, it wouldn't be that far of a stretch to imagine that I'd figured that bit out. No, Hermione, sorry, but I can't ask him."

She deflated a bit, but nodded her head in understanding.

"I could maybe ask Percy or something." Ron didn't sound overly fond of the idea.

"You think he would be suspicious?"

"Definitely," Ron answered darkly. "Percy always thinks he's smarter than everyone. If I suddenly just started asking stuff like that, he'd get suspicious. He'd make me tell him why I wanted to know."

They all fell silent.

Charlus would have had no problem finding the information in the Potter library. Unfortunately, he had chosen to stay over the break for Yule. Ron's mum, dad and younger sister were going to visit his older brother Charlie in Romania. Charlus didn't want to leave his best mate alone at the castle. Plus, he thought it would be interesting to be here when the castle was so empty. They could explore, enjoy the grounds and revel in the overall magic of the place.

"Well, I'll have a look in my Flourish and Blotts catalogue over the break." Hermione decided. "Maybe I'll find something in there that mentions Flamel."

"Might as well," Charlus answered as his eyes once more flickered over towards the restricted section. The more he looked at it, the more he just had a gut feeling that the out of bounds section of the library contained the exact information that they were looking for.

"Charlus?" Hermione asked a few minutes later, breaking a long but comfortable silence.

"Mmhm?"

"Do… do you know if your Brother is going home for Yule?"

"He's not," Charlus answered neutrally. "When Dad mailed me back saying he was fine with me staying, he said that Harry had decided to stay for the break too and told me that I wasn't to antagonize him for it or anything."

"He's been… uh… all right since the duel."

Charlus sighed. "I've told you, Ron, I think the only reason he came to the duel at all was to watch Malfoy get his arse handed to him."

Ron shrugged. "If you say so."

"Honestly Ron, just because he's in Slytherin doesn't make him evil!" Hermione huffed.

Ron shrugged again. "They don't have a great track record though, do they?" he asked darkly. "I'm not saying he's gonna go dark or anything, but he does hang out with them."

"Only Greengrass and some other girl, really." Despite the statement, Charlus sounded rather unsure of himself. He had, for weeks now, been debating whether or not to approach Harry, but after how much of a knobhead he had been after his brother's sorting, he was not sure if Harry would just forgive and forget. By telling himself this, that Harry didn't seem to be outright hanging around with Death Eaters in the making, he figured he was subconsciously trying to justify everything.

"Tracey Davis," Hermione supplied.

"Yeah, I've never heard that name, which means her family were never convicted Death Eaters, and Greengrass's were neutral."

"Weren't they part of the Conservatives at one point?" Ron asked warily.

"Yeah," Charlus admitted hesitantly, "but that was almost fifty years ago now. They haven't been Conservatives since 1945, I think."

"What's all this about Conservatives and Neutrals?" Hermione asked.

Charlus winced. "It's… uh, a bunch of political stuff," he said. "No offence, Hermione, but it probably won't be that important for you to know being muggleborn."

"What is that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"Nothing," Charlus defended, "just that you won't have a Wizengamot seat, so you won't really need to know much of it except for voting in ministers."

"That seems rather important."

Charlus sighed. "The gist of it is that the Liberals are the light side — the good guys. Their leader is Professor Dumbledore and mine and Ron's families are both in that faction. The Neutrals are sort of complicated. They're all right, I guess, but they sometimes vote with the Conservatives, which are led by Lucius Malfoy and are full of dark witches and wizards."

"Is that Draco's dad?" As Hermione asked the question, she couldn't help but notice how biased that account seemed.

"Yup," Ron said darkly. "Even my Dad rants about Lucius Malfoy, and he likes everybody."

There was a long, oppressive silence before Hermione spoke up. "If you want to talk to him," Hermione said with more than a pinch of exasperation, "you could always just do it, you know."

Charlus blinked. "How did you-"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione huffed, "it's obvious! The way you keep sneaking looks at him in Potions and at mealtimes. I'm sorry, Charlus, but you're as subtle as a hammer hitting a gong."

Charlus flushed. "I'm not that bad, am I?" he asked Ron.

Ron fidgeted uncomfortably. "I've… uh… seen you looking at him a few times."

Charlus sighed and looked at Ron. "If I were to… uh… make up with him and invite him to hang out or something, would you be… you know — decent?" He held up his hands to forgo an objection. "Not trying to be a prat, mate, but you were pretty against him when… you know?"

Ron didn't speak for some time, and Charlus felt his heart sink but eventually, he answered. "I'd rather not, but I'll be decent if he's decent."

Charlus sighed, feeling the tension drain from his body at his friend's grudging acceptance. It really was the best he could have hoped for.

* * *

_**December 22, 1991**_

_**The Entrance Hall**_

_**10:04 AM**_

The last week of the first term had been the coldest that Harry had yet experienced at Hogwarts. Just over a week ago, the castle had woken up to find itself and its grounds coated in a layer of snow that did not melt in the coming days. As a matter of fact, more snow had been fast approaching, and with it came the chilling Scottish winters that the first years had been warned about countless times since their arrival at the school.

Now, as Harry watched Daphne and Tracey make their way onto the grounds to begin their journey to the train station and eventually back home, he could say that he truly felt the cold and dreariness of winter for the first time.

If you would have asked him four months ago if Harry thought he would ever have friends, people who he even, to an extent, trusted, he would have laughed openly and dismissed the very idea. Now, he had not only one friend, but two. Granted, his relationship with Daphne did somehow feel more personal, likely as a result of him opening up all those months ago. He still didn't know what to make of that exchange, that weakness. He hadn't managed to siphon up the courage to repeat that metaphorical plunge, nor did he think he would any time soon.

Now, with Tracey and Daphne gone, Harry found himself oddly empty. That was, at least, until he realized that now, the castle, its secrets, and its knowledge were more at his disposal than ever before. He could not help but smile widely at the thought.

So lost he was in the thought that he did not notice the approach of another until her soft, cool hand closed around his wrist. He flinched violently and looked over his shoulder, almost cursing aloud at the calculating look in Parkinson's eyes. "Parkinson?"

"No need to be so jumpy, Potter." She tilted her head to the nearest abandoned classroom without another word. Not until the two of them entered the room did she turn to him with a gleam in her eyes. "Terence Higgs," she said without preamble, "met his end at the jaws of a three-headed-dog behind the door blocking the third-floor corridor. Apparently, he was trying to find out what was in there." She smiled sweetly at his dumbstruck expression. "Have a good holiday."

* * *

_**December 22, 1991**_

_**Castello Zabini**_

_**6:44 PM**_

For all of his practice over the years, and he had indeed had quite a lot of it, Blaise Zabini never did quite get used to the feeling of international travel via portkey. The floo was nauseating, but in his experience, little could compare to portkeying from London to the coast of Italy. He managed to land as gracefully as ever, but he felt as if his brain had just been put through a blender, and he blinked several times before the glorious entrance hall of his five-century-old family home came into proper focus.

He allowed a rare smile to play on his lips as he took in the scene after so many months away. Blaise wasn't one for shows of emotion in public. He had been taught the subtleties of politics, manipulation and betrayal from a very early age, and one message had stuck above all else, one message that his mother practised as much as she preached.

_"Emotions are dangerous things, mio caro. They can be a most wonderful weapon or a most brutal way of meeting your end. It is all about control. Proper control means they are yours to use and not the property of others to use against you."_

It was as paranoid a statement as was typical for his mother, but Blaise still couldn't help but let his soft smile grow at the memory. He thought idly that if his mother knew how well he had stuck to the plan this term at Hogwarts, she would be rather proud. Or, at least, as proud as one who suppressed nearly all of her emotions could be.

That was the difference between Blaise and his mother, a difference that he'd realized at the age of nine. Where he used Occlumency and overall emotional control to mask his true thoughts and emotions, his mother used it to suppress them in general. It was methodical and obsessive, bordering on sociopathic how callous his mother was when it came to human emotion.

_"It is only a distraction. It is our destiny that matters, mio caro. It is the Zabini destiny that matters, not what the Zabinis think along the way."_

Blaise disagreed wholeheartedly with that statement. He had always thought fulfilling a destiny was pointless without emotion. Sure, he understood the significance of said destiny, and why he, like his mother and grandparents and those before them was expected to pursue it, but without emotion, there was no reward. Without reward, life was pointless. For all of his mother's talks about destiny, Blaise liked his emotions, liked the journey as much, more actually, than he liked the legacy.

He was snapped out of his deep, philosophical thoughts when one of the many house elves popped into the room. _"Master Blaise is home!"_ it said cheerfully, and Blaise offered the creature his warmest, softest, most trademarked smile.

_"It is good to be home, Cecile."_

_"Cecile be taking master Blaise's things up to his room if master has no objections."_ Blaise shook his head to indicate he had none. _"Countess Antonia wishes to see master Blaise in the first-floor living room nearest the entrance hall, sir."_

Blaise nodded. _"Thank you, Cecile. I'll see her right away."_

True to his word, Blaise found the room in question and allowed his eyes to find his mother, who slowly paused the turning of a page in whatever book she was reading to look up and meet Blaise's eyes with a warm smile.

_"Ah, mio caro. I hope you have not forgotten how to speak in the language in which you were raised?"_ She spoke to Blaise not in English, but in Italian, which he swiftly reciprocated.

_"Don't be foolish, Mother. I would never do something so careless."_

His mother's eyes shone. _"No, I would hope not, just as I hope you carried that attitude into your first term at Hogwarts."_

_"I did, Mother."_

_"Well then, I shall let you add your observations about the potential piece of the puzzle that we left off on during the summer."_

* * *

_**December 25, 1991**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**7:08 AM**_

Harry was awake early on Christmas morning, or was it the morning of Yule? That still confused him, a bit. Despite the day in question, he was up no earlier than normal for him. He'd been told that all of the Slytherin's presents would be found in the common room.

Harry honestly didn't expect much. Presents from Tracey, Daphne, and maybe his father, but nothing more than that. With that in mind, it wasn't overly difficult for him to restrain himself, waiting in his dorm while reading the book on wards he had received from Grace. He really wanted to try the Proximity Ward, and now that the rest of his dorm mates were all gone, it would be the perfect opportunity. To do so, however, he would need a knowledge of Runes, or, at least, something to go off of.

At 7:00 am, he made his way down into the common room and despite his restraint, he couldn't help but be excited. Few presents as he expected, it would be more than he had ever received before. To his great shock, the pile that was laid out for him wasn't small at all. Sure, it was the smallest of the lot gathered, but there were still… many more presents than Harry had expected, and he let his jaw fall open for a moment at the foreign concept since nobody was in the common room as of yet.

He only had to wait a few minutes before Cassius, (who had also asked him to call him by his first name two days earlier( entered the common room. All of Harry's yearmates had gone home, as had Calypso, along with most of the house, so in the rare moments when Harry was with others, it had been Cassius and the Carrows. They were, after all, the only Slytherin he knew that had stayed behind.

"Morning, Harry. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Cassius. Are we waiting on the Carrows?"

"Yup." Cassius sat lazily back in the armchair with his arms behind his head. "They shouldn't take long. They're not ones to spend an hour on make-up, and clothes and whatever else girls spend hours doing."

True to that statement, Hestia and Flora entered the room not ten minutes later, taking seats near Harry and Cassius. Nobody so much as moved and Hestia rolled her eyes.

"Oh, by Merlin, it's Christmas; we don't have to act like the perfect little purebloods right now." With matching grins, Harry and Cassius bore down on their pile. Flora's smirk was more restrained, but she and her sister did the same.

Harry had received more than he had even initially noticed, even though much of it was small. Crabbe and Goyle had both gotten him large boxes of Honeydukes chocolate, which was mollifying to Harry, since he had sent them sweets as well.

He'd sat down with Calypso and gone over the whole "art of gift-giving" as she called it. It was a sort of tradition in old pureblood families, and a choice of gift, or lack thereof, spoke volumes to how one viewed you.

Most of his other yearmates, with the exception of his friends, had gotten him smaller, tokenry items. Parkinson had surprised him though. She'd sent him a black cloak with emerald green trim. It appeared to be made from the richest of materials, and Harry was actually sure he'd be using it a great deal. Suddenly, the simple bracelet he'd sent her seemed rather inadequate.

When he quietly voiced his concern to the three older students sat with him, Hestia had reassured him almost dismissively. "That's not your problem. She technically overstepped her boundaries, you didn't understep. It might be that she wants to strengthen your relationship, it might just be a show of generosity, either way, no-fault from you."

Blaise Zabini had sent Harry a book, though not one he had ever heard of before. "Do any of you know what this book is?" Harry asked hesitantly. He really did not like asking questions, even if it was much easier when he wasn't asking an adult.

Cassius's eyes sharpened for a moment but he didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Yeah," he answered eventually, "it's actually extremely popular. It's a book of fairytales."

Harry blinked. 'Fairytales?'

He wasn't sure what Zabini was playing at but decided to push the thought off to the side. Cassius had got Harry a more in-depth book on the history of dark lords in Europe. He had seen Harry reading _The_ _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and had snorted. "That's ministry censored trash," was what he had told Harry when he'd inquired.

"Not explicitly legal, I'm taking it?" Harry asked him with curiosity, turning the ancient-looking tome over in his hands.

"Does it matter?"

Harry thought absentmindedly that this may have been a test of sorts, similar to the one Grace had presented him with the day after Samhain. Harry just smirked back at Cassius. "Not at all, I just wouldn't want to get caught reading it."

Something flashed across the boy's face that Harry thought was a look of triumph. "Not legal to read, no." Harry nodded, thanking him as he delicately put the book aside.

The Carrows too had gone for a book, though theirs was one on curses. Harry didn't think it was illegal, but thought it was probably pretty close. Then he opened up his gift from Calypso, and his mask fully slipped, at least for a second.

_The Forsaken Magic: An Introduction to the Dark Arts._

That one definitely wasn't legal, yet it drew the widest smile yet from Harry. he didn't care that Cassius and the Carrows were watching him. He didn't care that it was a test, either, for he knew that his reaction had already earned him a passing grade.

Tracey had purchased Harry a model serpent that could be used as a display. Daphne had bought him two books. The first was on Transfiguration theory, and it was clearly advanced. The second was one on Magical Theory, one that, like the books from Cassius and Calypso, looked absolutely ancient. To their credit, James and Charlus had both sent Harry presents, and he suddenly felt relieved he had ordained to do the same in return. James sent Harry a golden watch that looked extremely expensive.

"It's traditional," Cassius told him. "It's a Lord-to-Heir sort of gift. My Father got me one when I turned twelve."

"As did mine my first Christmas at Hogwarts," Hestia added quietly.

Though Harry appreciated the sentiment, the gift did not make his breath hitch the way that Charlus's did. It was an unmarked photo album. Inside were countless pictures of himself, James and a load of others. Some he suspected were Potter ancestors, some clearly were not. In many of the photographs, there was also a rather beautiful looking redhead who, after a moment, Harry realized had his eyes.

His mother.

He shoved the album away before anyone could see it and ignored Cassius's inquisitive glance and the Carrow's raised eyebrows. This was for his eyes and his eyes alone.

To his slight surprise, Pettigrew had also come through with a gift, and more surprising still, it was one of his favourites.

_Harry,_

_Since I missed so many of these, I decided to go big or go home!_

_It isn't technically against the rules to own a knife at Hogwarts, but don't get caught with this one, will you? Slide the blade into the groove of any door and it will unlock unless it's protected by some seriously powerful, seriously illegal wards. At that point, call me and your Dad, because we get bonuses for arrests!_

_Happy Christmas,_

_Peter_

Three left now.

One was clearly a book and it was the one he opened next. If he had been surprised by the book from Calypso, he was flabbergasted by this.

_A Mental Mastery: Intricacies of the Mind._

There was, to Harry's mild surprise, a small note in the box.

_Merry Christmas,_

_Do not under any circumstances be seen with this book. I should never have sent it to you, but since you seemed so interested…_

_Please treat the book and information very carefully,_

_Charlotte_

Suddenly, the rather splendid necklace Harry had decided on for Charlotte seemed woefully insignificant. Then again, there was nothing he could have given her that could have held a candle to this. Cassius almost flinched back as Harry's eyes flashed with something he couldn't place. He couldn't see the book he held, but clearly, it had drawn an emotional reaction of sorts.

"You have two more," Hestia pointed out after a solid minute of Harry staring at the cover of the book with unmasked hunger.

Harry blinked; seeming to come out of a great trance as he slowly slid the book into his magically expanded school bag as discreetly as possible. "Right, sorry; I got a bit… distracted."

The next present certainly caught him by surprise, and he had to try very hard not to gape both at the gift and the signature.

_A most pleasant morning to you,_

_It would pain me very much to see a family like yours torn so needlessly asunder, and I can think of no gift stronger than the bond of brotherhood._

_Enclosed is a piece of parchment that is linked to one other. That other parchment will be in the possession of your brother, and anything either of you writes on the parchment will appear on its twin._

_I do not seek repayment for the gift. But if you feel so inclined, repay an old man by tightening the bond between brothers._

_Have a very happy Christmas!_

_Yours truly,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry quickly hid this one away too and by this point, he was certain that nothing could surprise him as he reached for the final box.

How woefully wrong he was.

He opened the final, much smaller box with no real emotion. After all, how was it possible to top something like that? To his utmost amazement, whoever had chosen to send the beautiful ring inside had managed to do just that. It was as dark as obsidian with an emerald in the shape of a serpent set into its centre.

It wasn't its appearance that struck Harry dumb, however, but the note attached to it.

_The enclosed ring is not a simple trinket, but a one of a kind magical artefact enchanted with the ability to detect the presence of humans and magic around you. In addition, it will allow the wearer to eavesdrop into conversations around them with unmatched precision, an ability which is tied to and activated by the user's thought. If one is to simply take a deep, calming breath, they will find that those around them will mysteriously fail to notice them at all._

_Use it well._

_A very Merry Christmas from your secret admirer_

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I apologize for the number of questions left unanswered by this chapter. Some will be answered sooner than others. One in particular is a long-term plot that you guys will be waiting a long time to see the conclusion of but hey, they have all need to start somewhere.**

**Please read and review.**

**This chapter was revised on October 13th, 2020 with the help of Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898. **


	14. TFA Ch 13: The Speaker's Den

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile and for . I had to write it in that format for the site to allow it on my profile.**

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**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.**

**Chapter 13: The Speaker's Den.**

* * *

**December 25th 1991.**

**The Slytherin Dormitories.**

**11:24 PM.**

Harry had rather enjoyed what he considered to be his first real Christmas. It did feel intensely odd to have a true Christmas at all. And not just the presents. He spent the day with Cassius and the Carrow twins, and for once, everything had been set aside and the four of them had simply enjoyed a day as children.

The feast had been a bit odd. The house tables had all been combined to form one table containing both staff and students. Harry caught Charlus's eye several times and there did not seem to be any of the vitriol that his brother had held for him at the beginning of the year. Instead, every time their eyes met, it just seemed… awkward.

Harry thought that Dumbledore's display with wizarding crackers was a bit odd, though it paled in comparison to a rather tipsy looking Hagrid kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek in an attempt to win himself some more alcohol. Harry could only imagine the scenes this would cause if it had taken place at a muggle primary school, but in the crazy world of magic that he now occupied, nobody so much as batted an eye.

By the end of the meal, his eyes had narrowed upon Dumbledore once more. He was possibly extremely eccentric, whether naturally or due to old age, or Dumbledore had been missorted and it was all an elaborate mask to throw off his foes. Personally, Harry thought the truth lay somewhere in the middle, but without more information, he could not be certain one way or the other.

After dinner, Harry looked over the proximity ward one final time. He really needed to start looking into Ancient Runes, as they seemed an essential component to nearly all of the wards in this book. In the end, he had asked to borrow a Runic dictionary from Hestia to copy the runes he would need for the ward, and returned it a few minutes later with a genuinely grateful "thank you."

It took him more than a few tries to get the runes right. They had to be drawn in the air with one's wand, and only then could the incantation be intoned with any effect. The ward took longer to put up than he would have liked but, miraculously, it held. The next step would be for Harry to tie other wards into the scheme, but for that, he was quite certain he would need a deeper understanding of Ancient Runes.

By this point, everybody seemed to be asleep. Not trusting his own judgement on that front, Harry decided it was time to put on the ring for the first time. He had asked his three older acquaintances to cast every detection spell they knew on the thing for curses, but it had come up empty. Surprisingly, none of them had inquired as to the ring's function, though Harry could practically see the gears turning in the minds of both of the Carrow twins.

When he slipped it on his finger, he felt… something creeping into his mind. It was not an unpleasant feeling, per se, just an odd one. It was as if his brain had just got a breath of fresh air. More accurately, it felt as if he had a sixth sense. He just — knew that there was no one in the room, nor in the hallway connecting all of the boys' dormitories.

Slowly, very slowly, Harry drew in a deep, measured breath and had to suppress a shout of surprise when, suddenly, his entire body seemed to fade from existence.

Absentmindedly, he remembered the bit about a deep, calming breath leading to him being impossible to notice. Critically, making sure to keep his breath held, he raised one shaking hand to his face and realized, with a large degree of unadulterated awe that he could see no hand at all. Without conscious thought, Harry allowed his breath to come normally again as a large, open grin spread across his face. This was, perhaps, the most incredible magic he had seen thus far.

Taking a minute to catch his breath again, Harry drew it in once more, slowly creeping out of the dormitory as he did. This was something he had meant to do for months, but with the older Slytherins like Grace being as watchful as they were, he never had the time nor the means to manage such a thing. In saying that, he had made sure over the past three months to keep a very close eye on all of the serpentine decor within the Slytherin common room and dorms. That was surprisingly more difficult than it sounded as there was a lot of it, but now, as Harry's heart raced in his chest with anticipation, he thought it may have just been worth it.

The low ceilinged Slytherin common room did not possess a set of stairs or any such addition. Instead, two long hallways that looked much more like dark, vast tunnels led off of the main common room. One hallway leading to the girls' dormitories was on the left side of the room. The other leading to the boy's dormitories led off to the right, on the opposite side of the common room from its sister hallway. Likewise, there was a much shorter hallway off of the common room set into the wall directly opposite the entrance that led to the head boy's and girl's quarters. They were only ever occupied when a Slytherin filled the role. This year, the Head Girl was a Slytherin, Jemma Fawley, though the Head Boy was a Ravenclaw whom Harry did not know.

In the boy's and girl's dorms, respectively, there were four fairly spacious rooms on either side of the hallway. On one side were the dorm rooms for the first, third, fifth and seventh years. On the other were three dorm rooms, one for each the second, fourth and sixth years, and a fourth, larger room — the restroom.

Each hallway ended in a dead end. There was no portrait hanging on the wall, but the wall itself, at least on the boy's side, was carved skillfully with the image of an absolutely titanic serpent coiled tightly around what appeared to be an oversized wizard's staff. When Harry said the hallway was long, he meant, long. It took him several minutes, in which he alternated between holding and releasing his breath, still acutely aware that no living soul was near him to creep to the far end of the hall. There was quite a large amount of space between the dead end and the closest rooms, the seventh year boy's dorm on one side and the restroom opposite— a rather disproportionately large amount of space. Trusting the ring on his finger to detect if somebody was spying on him, something he was certain was not happening, Harry let out the breath he was holding and allowed his next word to escape as a hiss.

"**Custos?"**

Instantly, the snake's head lifted. Harry did not see how the magic that allowed portraits to move extended to carvings, but he merely shrugged. That was a puzzle that was miles above his current level.

"**It has been so long." **the snake hissed, eyeing Harry curiously. "**You desire entry, I presume?"**

Harry nodded. "**How would I go about acquiring it?"**

The snake made an odd sound that Harry dimly thought may have been laughter. If not for the ring on his finger and the certainty it gave him in regards to his surroundings, he would be a lot more twitchy using Parseltongue so freely. "**You merely needed to ask."** And in the same manner that the Slytherin common room opened for its charges, the wall slid aside.

* * *

**Meanwhile, Several Floors Above.**

Charlus snapped the book closed with a surprised shout that was completely drowned out by the terrible wailing sound coming from the book in question. Without thinking, he shoved the book back onto the shelf and sprinted out of the library at top speed. The only thing he cared about in that moment was putting as much space between himself and the library as possible.

He had been so certain that the solution to their Flamel issue was buried somewhere within the Restricted Section. He had heard the name before, if in vague terms. His dad had mentioned meeting the man once — "an old friend of Professor Dumbledore's". Beyond that, and the fact that Charlus had rarely heard his father speak about anybody with as much respect as he had Flamel, he knew nothing. Even accounting for the fiasco involving the shrieking book, Charlus was still fairly sure that the restricted section likely held his answer but he had, like the impulsive fool he knew he sometimes was, grabbed the first book to catch his attention without thinking.

As he took the halls of Hogwarts at a blind sprint, Charlus had a rare moment of gratitude for the gruelling workout regimes his father had insisted he partake in for several years now. It took him an admirably long time to become winded. Unfortunately, by the time that moment came, he was so breathless from the distance he had run that he could do little more than stand there and catch that breath. A minute or so later, Charlus's heart stopped as he heard shuffling footsteps approaching. Panicking irrationally, forgetting altogether about the fact that he was invisible, Charlus quickly slipped into the room nearest him, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could manage. His body was fraught with tension for a few long, painful moments before he heard the feet he thought belonged to Filch shuffle their way past the room. He sighed, letting the tension drain from his shoulders as he turned to the… Not so mundane empty classroom, after all.

The room was, on the surface, much like many of the abandoned classrooms that littered the ancient castle. The desks were all pushed against a far wall, and the room had a distinct sense of being unoccupied for a long time. What caught Charlus's attention was not the typical attributes of the abandoned room. What caught his attention, instead, was the not so typical, rather ornate looking mirror that stood in the center of the room.

It seemed to emanate magic. Charlus was not so intune with his magic that he could interpret anything from the mirror, as he had been told was possible with practice, but he was at least aware that there certainly was magic radiating from the mirror's surface in waves. The mirror itself was taller than Charlus and looked extremely old and ornate. Upon the mirror was an inscription, one that seemed to be written in a language that Charlus did not understand, even though the letters, at least, seemed to be English.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

Charlus edged closer to the mirror, having had his curiosity piqued. As he came close enough to clearly view the image within its surface though, he froze. He whirled around, wand outstretched and a spell on his lips but faltered.

There was nobody else in the room with him — at least, there did not appear to be.

As Charlus squinted into the mirror once more with narrowed eyes, there was a brief moment where he wondered if the magic that was impacting the mirror allowed it to show invisible people. When the figures' features came into view, however, he had to hurriedly stifle a gasp of surprise.

The mirror did not show invisible people. He was certain of that, at least, because there were three people alongside him in the mirror. Of those three, Charlus was certain that one was incapable of invisibility and one… having died more than ten years ago, was incapable of anything at all.

Charlus stood shoulder to shoulder with another boy, their arms around each other as they both smiled proudly out of the mirror. The two boys stood between two taller figures. One of them, James Potter, had his arm around Charlus's shoulders and was smiling proudly down at his son. The other figure had both arms wrapped around the other boy, who leaned into her easily. The other boy was an inch or two shorter than Charlus, definitely on the thin side, had the same black hair as Charlus, if a lot more controlled, and the same shining, emerald green eyes as the woman beside him.

* * *

**December 26th 1991.**

**The Speaker's Den.**

**5:48 AM.**

Harry had decided the night previous that as much as he was loathed to admit it, sleep really was an essential bodily function. As soon as he rose that next morning though, he took two books and quickly made his way out of his dorm, down the hall and into what Custos had called "The Speaker's Den."

When he entered the room, his eyes roamed hungrily over it once more. To call it a room was actually a bit of a snub. He would not call it a flat by any means, but it was certainly reminiscent of one.

The main room was large and rectangular. The stone walls had been all coloured emerald green, something that gave the room a slightly brighter appearance than the rest of the dungeons. One of the walls was lined with several bookshelves that were all full. As best as Harry could work out, it seemed a sort of tradition for those who had found the room to leave at least one book behind, as some of the material was more personal than others. Some of the books were more generic, or ancient, or, in many cases, way too advanced for him to really understand at the moment. One book that did catch his eye was a FIRST edition of _Hogwarts, A History. _He smirked; that Granger girl would kill for that book. Harry too thought it would be quite interesting to read an unedited, unfiltered history of Hogwarts, but currently it was not at the top of his list of priorities.

Much of this main room was taken up by a long, rectangular table which dominated the room's center. It was done in a rich, dark wood, as were the chairs, but it was covered in a long, deep green table cloth with the house crest emblazoned upon the center of the cloth in a lighter green colour. Chairs lined each length of the table and at its head sat a slightly different chair. It was more a throne than a chair. It was done in a soft material, with comfortable armrests. It's defining feature, however, was the stone head of a serpent that extended from the top of the backrest, seeming to glare down at the table. Harry didn't think the chair held any true meaning, at least not that he'd figured out as of yet, but he was damned if he didn't think it added greatly to the appeal of the room.

There were a few other, smaller rooms off of this one as well. A smaller, more low key study. A smaller, more comfortable, less formal looking sitting room. A larger room lined with bookshelves that were all currently empty, and a restroom, smaller but just as luxurious as the ones off of the Slytherin dorms.

Quite simply, in Harry's estimation, this place was perfect.

Cautiously, Harry took his seat in the throne-like chair and half expected it to kill him, or something. He did, as a matter of fact feel… something run over his body, like cold water, but it seemed to have no effect on him. He reached into his bag and debated between his two preferred texts before, with a determined expression, he took out the book on mind magics from Charlotte. It had been something he had searched for after his encounter with Charlotte on Samhain, and he had never forgotten how badly he wanted to know more about that particular branch of magic.

The book seemed ancient, but, to his relief, it was miraculously written in modern day English. Absentmindedly, Harry wondered whether all magical books had some sort of spell to make sure the language used within kept up to date. Personally, he wasn't sure such a thing was possible, but he struggled for any better explanation.

When he opened the absolutely hulking tome and peered critically at the table of contents, he realized he was starting from square one. Turning to the first page of the book, he began to read.

_The Basics of Mind Magic._

_Your mind, just like your body, can be intimately affected by the magic that lives and breathes in our world. The potential impacts and importance of mind magic on one's life can not be overlooked by any who seek to achieve their goals. In order to do so, however, they must understand mind magic at its most basic forms._

_In short, simple terms, Occlumency is the art of self mastery over one's mind. Occlumency involves knowing your mind on such an intimate level that it can be controlled, protected, and even self manipulated. There are many stages to the mastery of Occlumency, but it is a skill that is undeniably useful in both its passive and active forms, and it can do far more than negate what many weak minded would call its opposite. _

_To speak of what many call Occlumency's opposite, you must understand the art itself, that being Legilimency. Legilimency is the art of mental manipulation of others. Its applications are only as limited as the users creativity and, of course, the victims skill with the aforementioned intricacies of Occlumency._

_Though this text may be defined as an open book, I implore any who choose to read and follow through on this information to gain proficiency in the prior art before advancing onto the latter. It is my opinion that manipulation of another's mind will only lead to disastrous self destruction if one has not mastered their own mind first._

By the end of that introduction to Occlumency and Legilimency, Harry was well and completely hooked. He obviously did not have the knowledge to make an informed opinion on the author's thesis regarding the learning of Legilimency, but it made sense to Harry.

As he would soon find out, it would be a long time before he gained a true mastery over his mind, but for the benefits it offered, Harry was certainly willing to exercise a degree of patience.

* * *

**December 28th 1991.**

**The Slytherin Dormitories. **

**12:46 AM.**

Harry groaned in resignation as he slowly sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He had spent much of the last two days wrapped up in the book about Occlumency and had begun performing some of the preliminary exercises it suggested. He had been annoyed by how long the process as a whole would take, but overall, he was looking forward to the benefits that the art would grant him in due time.

Unfortunately, the use of Occlumency to aid in sleep, which he had read was possible, was still a long way beyond him and would be for quite some time. The nightmares had woken him tonight and he knew that at least for now, he would not be able to get back to sleep. He sighed, sliding out of bed and pulling on a plain black robe. There was no need for him to reach for his ring, as he had decided a day earlier that he had no plans of taking it off if he did not absolutely have to.

He debated going back to the book on The Mind Arts, or perhaps starting the introduction to The Dark Arts but decided against both options. If he partook in anything so intellectual, he would only have an even more difficult time falling asleep. Instead, he decided that a true test of the ring and its usefulness was in order. There was, after all, so much of Hogwarts that he had not yet explored.

* * *

**Meanwhile, On The Seventh Floor.**

Charlus practically hurled the cloak across the room upon entering it, so lost he was to excitement. Ron had elected not to return with him to view the mirror tonight, saying that he had experienced plenty enough of it on his first and only visit. Charlus had merely frowned, unable to understand how his friend could just walk away from the wonders of the mirror.

If truth be told, the mirror was all Charlus had really considered in the past forty-eight or so hours. Gone was the stress that accompanied the mystery of Nicholas Flamel and the magical stone so valuable that Professor Dumbledore needed to hide it away. Gone was the inner turmoil regarding whether to approach his twin brother. The only thing left was a deep rooted desire to peer into the depths of the mirror that always awaited him in this room.

He did not know what the mirror showed him. Evidently, it was not the future, for as much as he wished it was otherwise, there was no power strong enough to raise the dead, and his mother was always front and center in the vision of euphoria that presented itself to him every time he gazed into the mirror. Perhaps it was some sort of alternate reality? A reality in which Voldemort had not come for the Potters ten and a bit years ago. Or, perhaps, a reality where she had never existed at all, or at least, never devolved into the monster that she had become in the real world.

Charlus did not care as he positively beamed into the mirror. He stood there, staring into it unflinching, unthinking for… he wasn't even sure how long. So distracted was he by his vision of perfection that he did not notice the door slide slowly and silently open. As a matter of fact, he did not notice a thing until a cool, quiet voice spoke from the doorway.

"What are you doing, Charlus?"

* * *

Harry had wandered aimlessly for a while, more testing the ring than anything else. Filch had walked right by him as he held his breath, a fact that nearly gave him what he was sure would have been a fatal heart attack, but he did not notice a thing. Neither, it seemed, did any of the ghosts that passed him by. Sure, the ring was limited by his breath, but it wasn't exactly difficult to run behind statues to catch it if necessary, and in reality, he spent the majority of his time perfectly visible as he could be one hundred percent certain that no soul, living or dead was near him. He was unsure if this ability stretched to Mrs. Norris, but he wasn't overly concerned even if it didn't.

Granted, this meant that it took him a bit longer to navigate the castle than if he had possessed true, unlimited invisibility, but Harry was rather adept at sneaking around, and honestly, he thought it was more fun this way.

He was so lost in the feeling of freedom that the ring presented him that he hardly noticed where he was going until he saw a familiar tapestry that indicated he was on the seventh floor. He had not really explored up here at length, seeing as the last time he had tried, the Gryffindors had jumped him, so he shrugged, making his way down the hall.

He only took a few steps before he froze. The ring was brushing at his conscience. There was somebody nearby… a bit up ahead and to the left. How he knew the details he had no idea, but he was grateful nonetheless. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry made his way towards the presence but when he rounded the corner, nothing was there. Upon a closer look, he noticed that though nobody was obviously there, a door on the left wall stood slightly ajar. Harry crept slowly to the door and peered inside. He caught a flash of painfully familiar black hair and paused.

Logically, he should leave. He was by no means close, nor was he even on good terms with his brother. Logically, he should leave, because it was now more than three hours past curfew and he was not sure how his brother would react to seeing him. If he was spotted and his brother chose to go to a teacher, he was not sure that his glowing reputation would save him against the word of The-Boy-Who-Lived, especially not after the blatant favouritism that had been shown to him through his entry to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Worse still, there were definitely a handful of teachers that seemed to have a problem looking past the green tie on his robes.

Logically, Harry knew all of this, but there was still a small part of him that was as Potter as his brother and if the Potters were known for anything, it was that there family had been Gryffindors for centuries.

With a sigh to indicate exactly how bad of an idea Harry knew this was, he slowly and quietly pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He blinked; what he saw was not at all what he had expected.

Charlus was standing there, completely exposed with his back to Harry, peering intently at… a mirror?

"What are you doing, Charlus?" Harry asked softly, closing the door as quietly as he could manage. He winced as Charlus whirled around, a slightly glazed look in his eye as he fumbled for his wand. When his eyes met Harry's, who had not yet moved but was more than prepared to draw his wand from its holster on a moment's notice, Charlus relaxed almost at once.

"Oh," he said with a sigh of clear relief, "it's you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Who did you expect it to be?"

Charlus frowned. "I… don't know, I guess. I just sort of thought the worst, you know? It's… actually, I don't know what time it is, but it's way past curfew."

Harry's lips twitched. "There is a spell for that, you know?"

Charlus rolled his eyes, but there was no bite in his expression. "Yes, yes, I'm well aware. I've known that for-" he paused whatever he was going to say, shooting a rather sheepish look towards Harry.

"Longer than I've known about magic." Harry finished for him.

Charlus winced. "That's not what I was going to say."

"Probably not; whatever I may think about you, you're not Weasley. You have a bit more tact than that, at least until you get riled up."

Charlus flushed. "That was… uh… a really backhanded compliment?"

Harry sniffed. "Merely an observation." he corrected.

Charlus rolled his eyes again. "You really are a damn snake, aren't you?" Harry tensed, but Charlus's voice was neutral if a bit… bitter, maybe? "You're even speaking in riddles now."

"Does your hero not speak in riddles too?" Harry asked him. "He was a Gryffindor, was he not?"

"You mean Professor Dumbledore?" Charlus asked, and Harry nodded. "Yeah, he was a Gryffindor."

Harry couldn't help it; he smirked. "Rhetorical question, Charlus." he told his twin, causing him to blush.

"Damn snakes." he muttered, but again, there was none of the bite that Harry expected to hear in his voice.

"This is touching and all," Harry told him with a certain degree of sincerity, "but if you haven't noticed, which I would actually bet you haven't, you never answered my question."

Charlus blinked. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Oh," Charlus seemed to hesitate, "you-you'll promise not to tell anybody if I tell you?"

Harry milled it over for only a second before he nodded. He doubted it was of any real importance and if it was somehow a life or death situation, he hadn't promised in any binding manner, per se, and Charlus hadn't mentioned anything about hinting or leading somebody else to figure it out on their own.

"It's this mirror," Charlus admitted, sounding a bit nervous, "I… uh… found it a couple nights ago and have been coming back since."

Harry tilted his head. "You've… been coming here every night to look into a mirror?"

Charlus blushed again. He was such an open book. "It's not an ordinary mirror!" he defended himself resolutely. "Go look for yourself and tell me you're not interested!" he challenged.

Harry nodded curtly and stepped past his brother to stand in front of the mirror. When he stood in front of the mirror and looked into it, there was a moment when he wondered what the hell his brother was on about. There was Harry staring back out at him but there was… something off.

The Harry in the mirror was smirking in a smug sort of way. Harry currently was not doing that. He looked different, too. Taller than Harry, still maybe an inch or so below average, but taller than Harry and well muscled. It was more than his physique that was different. The glow in Harry's eyes that he normally restrained was let loose in his reflection and, upon closer examination, Harry realized it had been turned up to eleven. There seemed to be an odd aura around him. Confidence, importance, fulfillment — power. More than anything, the Harry in the mirror, a Harry who was draped in an odd, silvery cloak and held a dark wand in his hand positively glowed with power. Harry wanted this. More than anything, Harry wanted this.

Quickly, he snapped his attention away from the mirror with a considerable effort. No image should be that tantalizing, least of all to Harry, who never let himself do such things as pointless as daydreaming.

"Well?" Charlus asked him.

"To be honest," Harry answered carefully, "I'm more terrified by the thing than interested by it."

Charlus looked perplexed. "You really are confusing." his brother told him.

Harry shrugged. "There's something… off about that mirror. I can't explain it but… when I looked into it — well, I never daydream. Let's just say I didn't exactly have time to do it as a child, and old habits die hard. But when I looked at that mirror-" but Harry cut off. His ring, or precisely, it's magic was pressing on his consciousness again and he whirled around, wand snapping from his holster as he took aim at the door.

"Why, Harry, I do apologize for scaring you, dear boy. I found myself most enraptured with your most clever deduction."

'Shit! The ring didn't even notice him.'

"P-P-Professor Dumbledore, sir?" Charlus asked nervously.

Dumbledore just smiled gently at the both of them as he closed the door. "Rest easy, Charlus." Dumbledore told him. "It was not my intention to scare you nor your twin, nor is it my intention to see either one of you in any degree of trouble on this rather fine evening."

Charlus looked a bit relieved but Harry's mind focused. He found it more than a little bit odd how the Headmaster of a school did not want to see two students in trouble after the both of them had been caught red handed while blatantly breaking curfew by more than three hours.

"Thank you, sir." Charlus said sincerely. "I-I didn't see you, sir."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled madly as they flashed from Charlus to something odd and silvery in the corner of the room. "If you will excuse my lack of modesty, Charlus, I do not need a cloak to become invisible."

Harry, who had not even known that a cloak could make you invisible, allowed his eyes to flick towards the corner in question, but they stayed there for only a heartbeat.

"So then, Harry," Dumbledore addressed him, surprising him out of his contemplations, "you have figured out the puzzle that is The Mirror of Erised, then?"

'Well, I know what it's called now.'

"Not exactly, sir." Harry admitted. "I just know that it has some kind of effect on people — their minds, probably."

Dumbledore hummed in agreement. "You have indeed correctly deduced a component of the mirror. Could you, by any chance, tell me what exactly it shows you?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "That's a very personal question, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Ah, Slytherin house." he said with fondness. Whether it was sincere or not, Harry couldn't tell. "There are many great values Salazar's house instills upon its charges," he ignored the sour look that flashed across Charlus's face, "though it, like the other three, has its downfalls." his eyes twinkled at Harry. "Whether paranoia is the former or the latter, I do not know. I was not asking about you personally, Harry. Merely what the mirror generally reflects at those who seek it out?"

Harry examined the mirror closely, noticing an inscription upon it. It was in large lettering which was probably the only reason he realized it was not some long forgotten language, but what appeared to be a butchered attempt at English.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

'Erised — The Mirror of Erised.'

And just like that he put it together, just as Charlus looked between Harry and Dumbledore with apparent confusion.

"I show not your face but your heart's desire." he answered carefully.

Dumbledore beamed at him.

Charlus frowned. "I don't get it, sir?"

"Don't you? Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Charlus nodded slightly. "It shows you exactly what you want to see."

Harry winced slightly, but Dumbledore caught it. "Care to enlighten him as to his lack of true understanding, Harry?"

He didn't, not really, but he did not dare say that. "There's a difference between what you want to see and what your heart desires." Harry answered measuredly. "You might want to see yourself as The Minister of Magic, but the mirror might show you something a bit different; probably related to power some way in that example."

Dumbledore's twinkle went up a notch. "Precisely! The word want, my boy, is a reference to the consciousness, and by extension, the mind. The word desire is often a reflection of your subconscious. Oftentimes, a person's mind does not know what it is that they desire above all else. At least, in most cases, not to the same degree as their heart."

Charlus nodded. "I-I get it now. Is… is that why I couldn't look away?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "It is but a mere piece of the puzzle that has driven far older and far wiser men than you to madness. You see, the mirror is a remarkable thing, but that does not necessarily mean it is a good thing. It shows you, on principle, the most alluring image that could possibly be presented to you in this world. That is simply the lure." Dumbledore told the twins darkly. "The hook is far more sinister, and I implore the both of you not to return in search of this mirror, as it will be moved tomorrow night. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Both twins nodded as Harry mentally deduced the mirror was likely some sort of dark artifact if Dumbledore was so gun shy about it. It raised the question of why it was in the school at all, but then again, it didn't seem to be worse than a Cerberus.

"Now," Dumbledore told them both, suppressing a yawn, "I will not punish either one of you, for curiosity is not among the sins of our world, at least not in its most innocent form. I do, however, think it high time that both of you return to the comfort and safety of your beds."

"Of course, Headmaster." Harry answered easily, bowing his head respectfully as he made to turn towards the door. As he did so, Charlus's final question to Dumbledore caught him off guard for oh so many reasons.

"Professor, what do you see when you look in the mirror?"

It was so bold, so blunt, and so pigheaded, yet Harry could not help but pause to listen. He doubted very highly that Dumbledore would honestly answer that question even to Charlus, even if they were in private. With Harry too in the room, he was certain that Dumbledore would not answer the question.

Therefore, he found himself more than mildly surprised when Dumbledore adopted a rather tragic smile and told them what Harry at least suspected to be a half truth.

"I see myself, Charlus, just as I am sure you yourself do. Like you, I see myself in a world that has been cleansed of a number of the sins that have polluted the past." his smile turned almost bitter for an infinitesimal amount of time. "Unlike you, however, the sins that have been reversed were all indirectly caused by my own youthful foolishness."

Charlus did not seem to know what to say to that. Dumbledore just smiled as he waved his wand and summoned the silvery cloak that lay in the corner before he handed it to Charlus. Without another word, Harry and Charlus exited the room, and not until they were two halls down and Harry's ring told him Charlus was the only one nearby did he speak again.

"He's… a bit eccentric." Harry started diplomatically.

Charlus snorted. "He's absolutely bonkers." he said fondly. "Brilliant though; greatest wizard alive!"

Harry didn't really have an opinion on that front one way or another, so he decided it was probably best not to respond at all.

Their footsteps echoed quietly in the halls as they walked for a few minutes before Charlus took the metaphorical plunge, his voice quiet and uncertain. "What-what did you see in the mirror?"

Harry did not break stride, but it was a near miss. He was so not used to questions so blunt and personal. It was, he supposed, one of the differences between Gryffindor and Slytherin, for better or for worse.

"That is a rather personal question." he said for the second time that night.

Charlus sighed and stopped dead in the hallway, turning to face Harry with fiery determination in his hazel eyes. "Look," he said, suddenly looking about double his age as he ran his hand through his hair, "I don't know you whatsoever, but both of us know that you're not going to say anything like this unless I do, so, here it goes.

I was a git, ok? I know I was. When you were sorted… It was just such a surprise, you know? We haven't had a Potter in Slytherin in more than six hundred years, and none who weren't Gryffindor in more than two hundred. I just… I thought you'd be a Gryffindor. I thought..." his voice cracked, "I thought we would just be brothers."

Harry did not answer right away and Charlus was suddenly sure that he would have his words thrown back at him. Instead, Harry spoke in a soft voice that carried little emotion.

"I saw myself in control."

Charlus blinked. "What?"

Harry stared at his twin with those intense green eyes. "I am not telling you about my childhood." he said pointedly, and Charlus nearly blanched at the way he spat the last word. "But without going into details, I never had any control over my life whatsoever. I had no say in what I did when I woke up. I was told what to do and I either did it, or they made my life hell." he winced. "Well, more hellish than it already was, I guess. Even when I did what they asked, sometimes…" his voice trailed off, but Charlus did not need him to finish.

"Did they… ever hurt you?" he asked.

Harry met his brother's eyes without faltering. "Hurt is a very broad definition, little brother."

"You know what I meant."

"Yes, I did."

He did not answer the question.

Charlus's jaw tightened. "Is that why you were so mad at dad?"

Harry's eyes darkened immediately. "Charlus, there are so many reasons I have for being upset with our father right now and to be honest, I'd rather not ruin such a sentimental moment by going into them."

Charlus nodded. There was a pause and then…

"I saw our family." Charlus said quietly. "How it should have been. You were there with me; we looked so happy together. Mum was there too."

Harry didn't respond right away. "We're messed up, aren't we?" he asked after a few moments.

Charlus rolled his eyes. "I've been told I'm messed up in a lot of ways, so you'll have to be more specific."

Harry's lips twitched and Charlus grinned. "Both of our hearts desire things that were taken away from us at the age of one." Harry specified.

Charlus winced. "That's… a bit dark, isn't it?"

Harry smirked. "Maybe, but if all of you idiots are to be believed, me and my House thrive in darkness, so I think I'll be alright."

Charlus laughed, managing to muffle it with his robes before choking out a response. "Yeah, and I apparently vanquish all of it, so I think I'll be alright too."

This time, even Harry laughed, though he did so a lot more quietly and less openly than Charlus. He did not really like to laugh in front of people, but this moment called for it. For the sake of both himself and his brother, it was the least he could do.

* * *

**December 30th 1991.**

**A Room In The Dungeons.**

**7:03 AM.**

Seeing as there was nobody around, Harry could not help but gape at the room he had frequented to practice magic. Not only had Professor Hurst added a table not unlike the one in The Speaker's Den, if admittedly quite a bit smaller, she had added several couches, a fireplace, and she seemed to have increased the size of the room itself as well.

Harry's jaw slowly closed and a satisfied, open smile spread across his face.

'I suppose I met her standards and then some.'

* * *

**January 5th 1992.**

**The Slytherin Common Room.**

**7:14 PM.**

Harry was reading through the second year section of his Transfiguration textbook when the returning students all began to filter into the common room. He had decided it was probably best not to read one of his more useful tomes in public, and he really did want to get as far ahead as possible in his schoolwork. By this point, he had begun Occlumency exercises daily. Clearing one's mind wasn't the easiest thing to do, but after years of necessary self restraint, Harry figured he would manage when he reached that point.

Right now, the exercises were primarily meditative, but Harry had tried, once, to clear his mind and had experienced a certain modicum of success. He had still yet to dive head first into his intro to he Dark Arts, but it too was still something that had not escaped his focus.

His attention was finally caught when the common room entrance admitted his two best friends — Daphne and Tracey. Immediately, the two girls spotted him in his corner and made their way over. Harry graced the two of them with a rare unguarded smile.

"Harry!" Tracey exclaimed, bending down to wrap her arms around his neck. Harry froze. He stiffened as his heart pumped furiously, sending blood rushing into his ears but Tracey did not seem to notice. Mercifully, Daphne had always been perceptive.

"Let him breathe, Tracey." she said, managing to sound completely and utterly casual despite the slight tension that was showing in her expression. Tracey obliged and Harry relaxed. "How was your holiday?" Daphne asked him.

"Productive." he answered, regaining his composure as best he could. "Yours?"

"Quite enjoyable." Daphne said with a smile shockingly as unguarded as Harry's had been the moment previous. Harry could tell that, whatever Daphne said, she held a certain fondness for her home and her family.

"How about you, Tracey?"

"Oh, fantastic!" Tracey said with a broad grin. "I spent a bit of it with Daphne, but it was great to see my family again and-"

"Was it now, Davis?"

All three of them froze at the familiar drawling voice that cut into their conversation. Harry had not heard that voice in over two months, but he recognized it at once. Tracey looked confused, but when she turned to see the passive visage of Draco Malfoy, she broke off quickly.

He smirked. "Surprised, are you?"

"Not particularly." Harry answered honestly. "The political tidal wave has blown over. It's no real surprise you would choose to come back now."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Malfoy's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"It's almost as if you've put thought into the matter, Potter." His grey eyes met Harry's and he did not need Legilimency to know that Draco was all too aware of who had set him up on Samhain.

Harry shrugged. "I always try to assess any situation around me. It's useful to plan ahead and the practice will come in handy even if it doesn't turn out to be relevant right away. Proper planning prevents poor performance."

Malfoy's expression didn't waver. "I'm sure you do, Potter, but between the two of us, I think you need more practice."

Harry noticed that some of the people nearby were doing an oddly good job of not seeming to be paying attention to their conversation. "Your opinion is noted, if not expressly agreed with, Heir Malfoy."

Draco sneered. "I wouldn't expect us to agree on much, Potter. One of us makes sure the right crowd is always at his side." he paused, allowing his eyes to fall on Tracey. "And the other associates with rule breaking mudbloods."

There was a tense silence around them. Harry had decided long ago that blood purity was utter nonsense. It was true that he was not overly fond of muggles on principle, even though he knew it was foolish to extrapolate his family's behaviour onto an entire population, but blood purity meant nothing. There were plenty of half bloods or muggle borns who were positively brilliant in comparison to the best purebloods of their generation. Dumbledore, for instance, and he would bet that Voldemort's blood wasn't pure either. If it was, she would have had no reason to hide behind an alias. His mother too had been brilliant by all accounts, and as irrational as he knew it was, he thought it was that fact in particular that caused his blood to boil at the slur. That and the fact that Tracey reared back as if she had been struck. Daphne's eyes flashed with danger but Harry caught her eye and subtly shook his head.

"Blood matters," Harry said measuredly, impressed at how level his voice came out, "but ability matters more." If Draco knew the origins of that quote, he didn't show it. Harry was not completely sure whether he wanted or did not want Malfoy to know of them. It would be hilarious to see the look on his face if he realized Harry was quoting Gellert Grindelwald, but it may also raise questions he didn't really feel like answering.

Draco just smiled pleasantly back at him. "Of course it does." he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity as he and his lackeys trudged off. None of them noticed the slightly hateful stare that followed them into the dormitories.

* * *

**January 6th 1992.**

**The Potions Classroom.**

**9:12 AM.**

Snape did not take the liberty of making a scene before the beginning of their first Potions lesson after the break. "Your marks for both the practical and theoretical mid-term tests." he said curtly, waving his wand and causing papers to gracefully float to each student. Harry, who was sitting next to Zabini today took his and quickly glanced at the perfect O before shoving it away with a smile. "Where is Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked, directing his gaze to Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle. "I was under the impression he would be returning to class today?"

"He's in the Hospital Wing, Professor." Parkinson said neutrally. "He woke up with terrible pain and boils; it looked awful."

Harry had to try very hard to suppress a smirk. Malfoy really needed that book on wards Harry had received from Grace. It was so easy to open his curtains and pour the contents of a vial he had filled with Longbottom's botched potion all the way back on their first day in class all over his bedsheets as he was asleep. Harry did not consider himself a sadist by any means, but he would be lying if he did not admit to taking at least a certain degree of pleasure from the screams of pain that came from Malfoy a few minutes later that woke up any in the dorm who had not managed to cast some sort of silencing or privacy spells around their beds. It turned out that only applied to Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry had been tempted to poor some in Malfoy's mouth, as he thought that would get the point about not spouting off the word "mudblood" across pretty nicely, but he had no idea what would happen if Malfoy swallowed the potion, and he was not nearly angry enough to risk starting a body count.

Clearly, Harry wasn't the only one who took note of that description as from beside him, Zabini shot him a brief, sideways glance. He had seen Harry bottle that potion all those months ago, and Harry thought it safe to say the quiet boy had put two and two together.

Snape's jaw tightened as he nodded stiffly, but he gave no reaction aside from that. They were set to brewing a fairly standard burn cure potion. Harry and Zabini were second to finish by a mile, absolutely blowing Parkinson and Nott, who were third, out of the water. They were still second to Daphne and Tracey, but that was to be expected and Zabini quirked an eyebrow inquisitively at Harry upon their completion.

"You've improved a lot at this." he noted.

Harry smiled thinly. "My best friend is a potions prodigy, Zabini."

"Blaise."

Harry started. "What?"

Zabini rolled his eyes before smiling a conspiratorial sort of smile at Harry. "We've been partnering every second Potions lesson since September, Potter. I think being on a first name basis isn't unreasonable."

Harry couldn't help but smile back at him. "Harry, then."

* * *

**January 11th 1992.**

**The Great Hall.**

**8:38 AM.**

Harry enjoyed the atmosphere that accompanied the morning of a Quidditch match, even in spite of the noise and the fact that Slytherin would be watching as a neutral party. Ravenclaw was set to play Hufflepuff. Harry was surprised to hear a voice clearing nearby, prompting him to look up from his conversation with Daphne on something he had read in the second year section of the Potions textbook.

"Yes?"

Zabini — Blaise, he still had to get used to that, smiled warmly. "Do you three mind if I join you?"

Harry and Blaise had spoken amiably a few times in the common room since the Potions lesson five days earlier and had made a point of greeting one another politely in the corridors and such. In saying that, they hadn't really spoken in depth since, and never around Daphne nor Tracey.

Harry quickly glanced towards his two friends. Tracey looked apprehensive and Daphne blank. "As long as you have more sense than… others, I don't see why not."

Blaise smirked, clearly not missing the jab aimed at Malfoy. "More sense, more self restraint, more brains — what else could you want?"

"More modesty, perhaps." suggested Daphne with a raised eyebrow.

Blaise's lips twitched as he took his seat beside Harry and across from Tracey. "Modesty doesn't get you nearly as far as confidence." he said smoothly, causing Tracey to giggle, and Daphne and Harry to grin.

"I think we can get along, Zabini."

"Why, Greengrass, it would be a shame to call one as beautiful as yourself by your last name. Please, call me Blaise."

"I can't quite return the sentiment about appreciating your beauty, but if you insist, call me Daphne."

Harry had to bite down on his laughter. Daphne had the sharpest tongue of anyone he knew and was a master at word play. Blaise seemed more than up to the task of matching her, and if Blaise hung around more often, Harry thought it would be intriguing to bear witness to the inevitable verbal sparring that would take place.

Blaise turned to Tracey. "There are so many better names to call you than what some people come up with, Ms. Davis, and it would be quite awkward if the two of us didn't follow the example I have set with your lovely friend."

Tracey beamed at him. Harry's eyes narrowed. There was more to Blaise Zabini than what met the eye. The outwardly quiet, admittedly well spoken boy seemed to be able to charm a rock.

'One to keep an eye on, for certain.'

* * *

**February 8th 1992.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**

**1:09 PM.**

Harry and Blaise walked from The Great Hall side by side in companionable silence after lunch. In the past number of weeks, Blaise had become a fixture in Harry's group of friends and had hung around him just as much as Tracey or Daphne. Currently, the latter two were in the library writing a Defense essay that both Harry and Blaise had already finished. As they were exiting the hall, however, Harry heard a number of voices that caught his attention. More accurately, he caught a brief snippet, but it was more than enough to intrigue him.

"Third floor — corridor — trap — hiding — over here!"

Quickly, Harry took a firm grip on Blaise's arm, something that surprised the taller boy quite a lot if his widened eyes were any indicator. That was about as much surprise as Blaise ever showed in private, let alone in public. Harry dragged him into the alcove underneath the marble staircase but quickly realized that whoever was coming their way was planning to use it. As discreetly as he could manage, he pulled the hidden door open, something that actually caused Blaise's face to become marred with surprise before Harry dragged him inside and closed the door behind them. Unfortunately, the completely soundproof wall ruined any chance of overhearing the conversation going on outside.

'Unless…'

Harry had been experimenting a bit with the whole "eavesdropping thing" that his ring was supposed to be able to do. By now, he thought he had the gist of it. Harry focused as hard as he could on the people standing just on the other side of the wall, making sure they were the only people he paid any thought to before slowly, he began to turn the ring on his finger as if it were a volume dial. Immediately, the conversation from outside came into sharp focus, and Harry held up his hand to forestall any interruptions from Blaise.

It was incredible. There was no background noise at all, only the speech of the three people outside the wall as he could just… tell it was three people. This was perfect.

"Alright, so what'd you'd drag me in here for? Cool little place though, by the way."

"Thanks," answered a voice that Harry vaguely recognized as belonging to one of Ron Weasley's brothers. One of the twins, though which he did not know. "We… uh… wanted to tell you something from a few months ago."

"We were thinking about telling somebody, or maybe even investigating but, we wanted a second opinion."

"Go on then."

"You know the third floor corridor?"

"The one we're not supposed to go into under any circumstances?"

"Under warning of a 'very painful death'?"

The other boy sighed. "You went in there, didn't you?"

Harry did not hear an immediate response, but he could practically picture the Weasley twins nodding in unison.

'Idiots.'

"Well," the other boy, who Harry thought was Lee Jordan but wasn't quite sure, asked, "what was in there?"

"You can't tell anyone this." One of the twins said sternly.

"Of course not."

A pause, and then…

"A dog."

"A huge dog."

"With three heads."

"Standing on a trap door."

"The staff are hiding something at Hogwarts, and they're using a three headed dog to do it."

Harry's jaw actually fell agape for a second before he regained control. He had known about the dog from Parkinson but the trap door, the notion the dog may be a guard for something… Those were two angles he had never considered before.

As the conversation on the other side of the wall devolved into speculation, Harry gestured for Blaise to follow, mentally tuned out the conversation, which in turn enabled the ring to do the same and began to make his way down the passage with Blaise behind him.

"May I ask what just happened?" Blaise said carefully.

"I just eavesdropped into a conversation between the Weasley terrors and Lee Jordan. At least, I'm reasonably sure it was Jordan."

Harry didn't need to look back to know that Blaise had rolled his eyes. "I never took you for a gossiper with your ear to the lions' drama."

Harry snorted. "I never took you for a big enough idiot to believe that." Now it was Blaise's turn to snort and Harry finally answered. "They were discussing the third floor corridor. Turns out the terrors were dumb enough to actually go inside the corridor."

"Well," prompted Blaise, "is Dumbledore as mad as we thought he was at the start of term feast?"

"Above and beyond, if they're being honest." Harry said. "Not in the way we thought though."

"So there actually is something behind that locked door? At least, according to the Weasleys?"

Harry debated the pros and cons of lying to Blaise for all of three seconds before he decided that it didn't really matter. He had the impression that Blaise was a lot of things, but a blabber was not one of them and he certainly was not foolish enough to go investigate for himself.

"A Cerberus." he answered. This time he did glance back. He wanted to catch Blaise on one of the rare moments where his mask cracked and sure enough, his dark eyes nearly bulged out of his head before he took control of the impulse.

"A Cerberus?" he asked, sounding sceptical. "We are thinking of the same thing, right?"

"A massive three headed dog." Harry told him casually before his eyes narrowed a bit as he continued to look over his shoulder. He wanted to see Blaise's reaction to this next part. "Sitting on a trapdoor."

One… two… three…

"Dumbledore's hiding something."

Harry nodded with satisfaction. "That's the same conclusion the terrors came to. Personally, I agree with them."

Which would actually make a lot more sense in the context of Higgs. He figured if Higgs had gone for the trapdoor, the dog would have reacted. Perhaps the Weasley twins never tried to breach it, so the dog had paid them no mind? It would at least explain how they were still alive.

Harry noted with some surprise that Blaise had not asked him about the ring. Blaise seemed to be a man of many secrets, so Harry supposed it was perfectly reasonable that he would not be one to pry for those of others.

"See," Blaise said with a conspiratorial wink, "I knew I wanted to be friends with you."

* * *

**February 22nd 1992.**

**The Quidditch Pitch.**

**9:36 AM.**

Blaise was as sharp tongued as Daphne and as it turned out, not that quiet at all once you got to know him. At times, he was sharp and cutting, but when he needed to, or more often, wanted to turn on the eloquent charm he had shown during the morning of the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match, he could flip that switch without a second thought. Much like Harry and Daphne, he too was very hard to read, though Harry thought him even more difficult than Daphne by a wide margin at times.

That match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had ended with a quick Hufflepuff victory. The badgers had been trailing 60-10, but Cedric Diggory made the catch ten minutes into the match and ended the game 160-60. It was, according to many of the upper year Slytherins, many of whom were grudgingly impressed with Diggory's talents, the fastest catch since Charlie Weasley in a match against Slytherin a few years back.

Slytherin played a match in the month of January as well. They were, unfortunately, defeated by Ravenclaw. They had led the game 150-120, but the Ravenclaw seeker, a second year by the name of Cho Chang, snagged the snitch from under Montague's nose and had given Ravenclaw the 270-150 victory.

February passed as mostly a blur. Harry continued with his Occlumency exercises and thought that soon, he may be ready to try actually clearing his mind for real as opposed to simply meditating. The workload in their classes increased dramatically, but Harry wasn't bothered. He was well into the second year curriculum by this point, and thought it very likely that he would finish it by the end of the year, at least in Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, and maybe Potions. He did still need to look into Ancient Runes and possibly Arithmancy, but that was a project to undertake at a different time.

Currently, Harry was groaning along with the rest of his house as he watched Snape slam his broomstick to the ground with obvious fury moments after Charlus had caught the snitch in under 5 minutes, winning the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. As Harry made to follow Daphne, Blaise and Tracey out of the stands, his eyes sharpened upon something in the distance. Snape was making his way off in the opposite direction to the castle. He was, as a matter of fact, heading straight towards the forbidden forest. Harry remembered the incident with Snape and Sinestra all too well and could not help but be curious.

He pondered for about ten seconds before coming to a decision. "I'll be back." he told his three friends and before any of them could object, he slipped into the crowd of people, taking a long, deep breath and following after Snape at a flat sprint.

The pursuit was rather difficult, as Harry had to find hiding places every time his breath ran out. It was made even more difficult by the fact that Snape, in true Slytherin fashion, seemed completely paranoid, as he kept throwing glances over his shoulder. Eventually, however, Harry managed to follow Snape into a large open clearing not far into the forest. He thought his hiding spot was quite well concealed, as he doubted anybody on ground level would notice him in the thick leaves and branches if they did not know where to look. He would just hold his breath every time Snape's eyes loomed in his direction and he would be fine.

Before he could truly wonder what Snape was here for, something above him caught his attention and caused his heart to quicken. Ready for a fight of some kind, Harry glanced up, only for his jaw to fall briefly open as he spotted Charlus hovering out of Snape's line of sight in the canopy of leaves above. Before he could ponder too long on this, there was a shimmer from near where Snape stood, and the sallow skinned Potions Master was suddenly not alone in the clearing anymore.

"I thank you for your presence, Severus." Dumbledore said pleasantly as he cast his eyes around the clearing and traced his wand intricately through the air. For a terrifying moment, Dumbledore's eyes paused on the spot that Harry was hiding as he felt… something wash over him, but his disillusionment, which he had quickly kickstarted once more upon the Headmaster's arrival, had not been dispelled. Evidently, Dumbledore did not notice Harry, as his eyes quickly landed back on Snape.

"I do not care for your niceties." Snape said bluntly. "I care whether or not whatever purpose you had in mind was worth coming out into the middle of the bleeding forest for."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "We can not be overheard." he told him. "After all, students are not to know of The Philosopher's Stone." Harry actually heard Charlus draw a sharp breath, but was near certain the two men in the middle of the clearing could not have.

'Whatever that is, it must be what the dog is hiding.'

Snape quirked an eyebrow. "You have sworn the staff to an oath of secrecy. I fail to see why you feel the need to reinsert the point."

"Ah yes, how dim witted of me. I apologize, Severus. In my old age, I am afraid my memory is not what it once was." Judging by the look on Snape's face, he was about as fooled by that lie as Harry was. "Now, have you managed to glean any information on the… fiasco, shall we call it, that was the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match?"

"No," Snape answered flatly, "if Sinistra is under the influence of The Imperius Curse, then no effects are evident."

"Which would mean only that it has been cast by a true master?"

Snape nodded curtly. "Indeed." He looked at Dumbledore for a long, tense moment. "Surely we have come to the same conclusion, Dumbledore?"

"I think so." Dumbledore answered tiredly. "But if Halloween proves anything, it is that my assumptions can be as far fetched as the next man's."

"You do not believe a ritual or similar such magic granted her wand immunity from Priori Incantatem?"

"It is certainly possible. You would know far better than I, Severus. I do, however, think I have, if you will forgive my lack of modesty, gifts that would render such rituals useless."

Snape stared hard at Dumbledore for what felt like ages. "I shall take your word for it." he told Dumbledore curtly. "When do you think the move will be made?"

"Oh, I think we have some time before that. The perpetrator will wait for the right moment, if I am not mistaken. Barring the materialization of such a moment, they will react only when they are so pressed for time that actions are necessary."

"By the right moment," Snape asked dryly, "you mean a time when you are not so close at hand to go rushing off after them to play hero?"

From his vantage point, a very confused Harry Potter could not see Dumbledore's eyes clearly enough to be sure, but he was rather certain, even without seeing them that they were twinkling like mad. "Precisely!"

Snape snorted. "Your modesty is touching."

"Modesty is simply one of my niceties you dislike so much when it is not applied to enable productivity."

Harry could picture the sneer on Snape's face, even though he could not make it out from his vantage point. "I will take your word for it." he said again after a moment's pause. "Would you like me to keep investigating?"

"No, I don't think that will be necessary." Dumbledore decided after a pause. "If you have found nothing as of yet, I find it unlikely that will change. We will simply have to wait until the time comes."

"And when that time comes?"

Harry could have swore he saw Dumbledore's eyes flicker towards Charlus's hovering form before he answered Snape's last question. "We do what is right, as opposed to what is easy."

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**This chapter turned out to be much longer than I had anticipated, but I had a lot that needed to be covered. There is one more chapter in year 1 that is longer than 10k words, and it will be the final chapter of the year. **

**Speaking of which; though it may be hard to believe, there are only four more chapters left in year 1, and I can not wait for the twist that will end the opening year of this story!**

**A few things I'd like to clear up that I know will come up in the reviews:**

**Yes, "The Speaker's Den" is an illusion to "The Prince's Lair" from the story "Harry Potter and The Prince of Slytherin". I will not be copying the "Prince of Slytherin" concept, nor does the "throne like seat" share many characteristics with The Sinister Man's "Hydra Throne" **

**That story has influenced this one for certain, probably even in more ways than I realize, but this is NOT a PoS fanfic and I have no intention of blatantly copying from The Sinister Man's plots.**

**Nextly, some logistical things that I have changed via the power of AU, not botched:**

**I took some creative liberty with The Mirror of Erised in regards to Harry's vision. I just want to clear up that no, it does not show the future, but exactly what it shows him is open to your own interpretation.**

**Not everybody will be able to fool Harry's ring as easily as Dumbledore. As a matter of fact, he will be the only one to be able to do so using the method that he chose. **

**Finally, yes, in canon, you cannot summon the cloak, as displayed near the end of DH when a death eater tries and fails in Hogsmeade. Dumbledore has a rather unique advantage on that front, and for now, I will leave it at that.**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, May 16th at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	15. TFA Ch 14: Salazar's Sanction

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my lovely betas Umar, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story. **

* * *

**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile and for . I had to write it in that format for the site to allow it on my profile.**

**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**_._

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.**

**Chapter 14: Salazar's Sanction.**

* * *

**February 22nd 1992.**

**The Forbidden Forest. **

**10:18 AM.**

Neither Harry nor Charlus moved while first Dumbledore and then Snape vacated the clearing. Only after the sound of their footsteps had faded completely did Charlus gently drift down towards the ground and allow his shoulders to sag.

"That was… interesting." Harry said neutrally. He and his brother had spoken a fair amount over the last month. They had made it a point to meet up on Thursday nights in the library and study together. These sessions had often devolved into casual conversation, but neither of them were complaining at the arrangement. Harry would not quite say he was close to his brother; he still thought that would likely take some time, but he could honestly say that they were now firmly on good terms. Granger had come once. She was a handful and Harry couldn't honestly say that he liked her, but she was tolerable. To the surprise of nobody, Weasley had not come. Nor had Daphne, but that was mostly because Harry thought if he let her, she would curse his brother to bits for his perceived part in Harry's childhood.

Charlus snorted. "You Slytherins and your bloody understatements." He made to speak again but Harry raised his hand to pause him before drawing his wand.

"Muffliato." he cast, assuring that no noise would escape the clearing.

Charlus's eyes widened. "How do you know that spell?"

Harry raised an eyebrow in return. "How do you know that spell?"

Charlus appraised him for several heartbeats before answering. "Dad told me about it. He learned it from mum and a bunch of the aurors use it now."

'Better question, how the hell did Hurst know an auror grade privacy spell?'

"I saw you react to the mention of The Philosopher's Stone." Harry said without preamble, neatly diverting the topic of conversation to a potentially less dangerous topic. In actuality, Harry supposed it was a lot more dangerous in the grand scheme of things, but not in this exact moment in time, at least.

He had learned after a month that Charlus, unlike many of his own housemates, was not one for subtlety.

Charlus bit his lip. "Promise you won't go running to Snape if I tell you?"

Harry frowned. "We're both breaking a number of school rules right now so I would only implicate myself at the same time. Plus, if you haven't noticed, he might not outright bully me like he does you, but he's not exactly my biggest fan either."

Charlus looked sheepish. "Yeah, I guess that's true." he hesitated. "You remember the whole mess on Halloween?"

"Vividly."

Charlus nodded. "Yeah, well… uh… me and Ron sort of… snuck out to listen into the teacher's staff meeting."

'Gryffindors...'

Technically, Harry was doing something similar, but he also wasn't doing so in the midst of a whole school lockdown and putting himself under the scrutiny of the entire staff, visible or not.

"The cloak." Harry asked, having pieced together what the silvery item Charlus had carried on Christmas was. He nodded and Harry frowned. "And Dumbledore didn't know?"

Charlus looked puzzled. "Course not, we were invisible."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes or press his face into his hands at his brother's idiocy. Charlus really wasn't bad when you got him on his own and away from Weasley, but he was so daft sometimes.

"Yes, but he still should have been able to find you using magic even if you were invisible." he frowned. "I have a hard time thinking Dumbledore of all people wouldn't be overly cautious."

Charlus shrugged. "The whole school was in lockdown, he probably didn't think anyone could get out."

Harry could not see how Albus Dumbledore, by all accounts the greatest wizard since Merlin himself could have been fooled by two first years and an invisibility cloak. The only logical conclusion was that he knew that Charlus and Weasley were there and had done nothing about it. As for a motive, Harry was flummoxed, but he could see no other realistic possibility.

"Right," Harry said sceptically, "anyways, it's not really that important; carry on."

Charlus blinked at Harry's change of pace. "Uh… right. Well, Dumbledore mentioned the whole thing with Higgs and checked all the teacher's wands for the Imperius curse since he thought no student could have smuggled in the troll and they figured Higgs did it as a diversion to get to the third floor corridor-"

"So he died because of that three headed monster behind the door?" Harry asked for specification. Pansy had certainly seemed sure but as in tune as she always was with the Hogwarts rumour mill, Harry wanted to confirm the fact once and for all.

Charlus grimaced. "Yeah, Dumbledore said it was… uh… messy — wait! How the hell do you know about that?"

Harry smiled easily at Charlus. "The Hogwarts rumour mill is a terrible thing, but sometimes, if you know who to ask and what to look for, it can be dead useful.' It was actually almost the truth. "My turn to ask a question. The Imperius curse let's another wizard control you entirely, right?" The only context he had ever heard the curse mentioned in was "The Imperius Defense", which had apparently got a lot of death eaters out of Azkaban.

"Yeah," Charlus told him darkly, "it's one of the Unforgivable Curses. Using any of the three would land you a life sentence in Azkaban."

Remembering Hurst's words on Samhain, Harry suspected very much that he knew the second, though the third was certainly something to look into.

"Right, continue."

Charlus blinked at him. "It's bloody off putting how quickly your mind moves on." he told Harry. "Anyways, they talked about how the aurors would have to come in, which is why the school was shut down for about a week, by the way; dad was on the team, the leader, actually. Flitwick said something about them investigating the third floor corridor. He said something about a stone." Charlus scowled for some reason that Harry could not ascertain. "Dumbledore promised that wouldn't happen and that was pretty much the end of it until we were at Hagrid's."

"Hagrid's?" Harry asked sceptically. He had nothing against Hagrid. The man was actually, from what Harry could tell, extremely kind hearted if nothing else, but he also wasn't the brightest torch on the bracket.

"Yeah," Charlus said uncomfortably, "don't… uh… tell anyone this bit either, but Hagrid sort of let slip something he definitely wasn't supposed to. I… uh… sort of messed up and mentioned the stone and the trapdoor in front of Hagrid and Hermione — me and Ron weren't really friends with her yet. Anyhow, Hermione asked what kind of stone could be worth hiding like that, and Hagrid told us to keep our noses out of it. He said that it was between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. Hey!" Charlus exclaimed suddenly. "Do you know who Flamel is by any chance? The three of us, me, Ron and Hermione have been looking for months now!"

"No." Harry answered honestly.

"Could you find out, do you think? No offence, Harry, but we think the information is somewhere in the restricted section, and Slytherin has a bit of a… uh… dodgy crowd."

Harry rolled his eyes and seriously debated telling off his brother but he didn't bother. "Could I find out — probably. Am I going to try — no." Lie, he was definitely going to try and find out, but he had no intention of telling his bold headed brother. Charlus would probably rush head first into the corridor as soon as he figured out the whole puzzle.

Remembering the recent conversation the two of them had overheard, Harry was pretty sure Flamel had something to do with the Philosopher's Stone, so that was at least a start. Vaguely, Harry remembered hearing of that before. The muggles had thought it was something to do with turning metal into gold, he thought, but he doubted it was that simple in the magical world. He had learned since his integration into Magical Britain that many of the myths that muggles had told for centuries had their roots in real life magic. He had also learned, however, that they rarely, if ever had the whole tale right, and he suspected this was just another occasion where there was way more to the story than the muggles had pieced together.

Charlus looked incredulous. "Why not?"

"Because Hagrid's right." Harry said dryly. "You are an eleven year old boy, Charlus. You have no business looking into anything that's been hidden so thoroughly. Anything involving a Cerberus is way above your level."

Charlus bit his lip. "We think whatever is being hidden here is what those dark wizards tried to steal from Gringotts over the summer. Dad took something out of the family vault the day of the break-in and he told me that it was our vault that had been compromised." he said hopefully. "We think… we think Snape is trying to steal it for them."

Harry blinked. "You what?"

"You know about the Gringotts-"

"Charlus, I wasn't talking about that. That's actually a very plausible theory, but Snape's definitely not involved with this."

Charlus looked at him exasperatedly. "Harry, he cursed-"

"Your broom? No, he didn't." When Charlus just gaped at him, Harry rolled his eyes. "You have to stop assuming that you and your friends are the only people who can figure anything out around here. I watched Granger's little stunt through omnioculars and you know what? Snape wasn't the only one looking dead at you and muttering like mad."

Now, Charlus looked taken aback. "Who else then?"

"Sinistra."

"But Snape hates-"

"Yes, he does, which is exactly why he wouldn't try and kill you in public. He knows that he would be one of the top suspects, especially with your father as a Senior Auror and your godfather as a detective for the DMLE."

Charlus frowned. "But you can't know it was Sinistra if they were both-"

"I couldn't, but I can now." his twin looked confused. "I'm not one to worship Dumbledore even if I've got nothing against him either, but I highly doubt Snape could get away with lying to his face. If Dumbledore is so certain Snape didn't do it on top of the fact that it makes no sense, I'm sorry, Charlus, but Snape didn't do it."

There was a long pause. "Fine then!" Charlus grumbled, clearly not convinced. "Even if it isn't Snape, shouldn't we try and find out what these people are going after?"

"We… are… eleven!" Harry reiterated. "Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Hurst, they all know what's being guarded and they can do a much better job of protecting it then we can. No, Charlus, I'm sorry, but I won't be finding out anything about Flamel or The Philosopher's Stone for you." Harry emphasized the "for you" bit in his mind, but his twin did not need to know that.

Charlus sighed. "Fine," he said, "have it your way."

* * *

**February 22nd 1992.**

**The Speaker's Den.**

**10:03 PM.**

For pretty much the rest of the day, there was a war waging inside of Harry's mind. He wanted to tell his friends about everything involving the stone, but he just didn't find it easy to trust anybody. There was also the problem that the Slytherin common room was practically a breeding ground for eavesdroppers. Harry had debated bringing them all down to the room deep in the dungeons, but he had decided that such a thing was impractical and after doing a bit of reading in some of the more personal tomes left in The Den centuries earlier, he thought that, if strictly necessary, the place provided him with a contingency plan.

Needless to say, Blaise, Daphne and Tracey had been more than a little bit surprised when Harry hurried the three of them into The Speaker's Den. He could only imagine how shocked their faces would have been if he'd have used Parseltongue to enter, but he simply used the English password he had chosen, "Durskaban." It was overdramatic to be certain, but Harry was positive that nobody would be guessing that password even if they somehow saw them enter, something his sixth sense which the ring provided him with made near impossible.

"Harry, what is this place?" Daphne asked in amazement as she eyed the serpentine throne, the emerald walls and the bookshelves with rare, unmasked awe.

"Incredible is what it is." Blaise agreed softly, running his fingers over the table cloth. Tracey just seemed to be frozen, gawking around the room as if she could not believe the sight in front of her. Blaise's attention shifted to Harry as he studied him with a measured expression. "This isn't a new discovery, is it?"

"Depends on what you define as new." Harry told him. "I found it the night of Christmas while you lot were gone. It was easier to sneak around then and it gave me a chance to test this." Harry held up the ring on his finger.

"Ah," Blaise nodded, "so that's how you did it then."

"Did what?" Daphne asked, confused.

"I eavesdropped on the Weasley twins and their friend Jordan a couple of weeks ago through a soundproof wall. Blaise never asked, so I never answered."

"So that's why you always wear that ring?" Tracey asked him, astonished. "It lets you eavesdrop on conversations?"

Harry smirked. "Oh, Tracey, it does so much more than that." Slowly, dramatically, Harry took a long, measured breath and faded straight from existence.

Tracey's jaw fell open and even Daphne and Blaise were wide eyed and shocked. A second later, Harry let his breath out and flickered back into sight.

"You moved." Blaise said, even more surprised.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I was invisible and the thing that surprised you most is that I moved?"

"Shut up, Potter, you know there was more to that then you realized." Blaise cut across him, though his lips had twitched. "I'm assuming that's a disillusionment charm built in, which is unbelievably impressive. When you're under a disillusionment charm, you're not supposed to be able to move without giving yourself away. The giveaway would be nothing major, but there would be a shimmer in the air or something." he looked pointedly at Daphne and Tracey. "I don't know about you two, but I didn't see a thing."

Mutely, they both shook their heads.

Harry frowned. "Ok, for one thing, that is actually very odd, but I'm not going to complain. For another, how do you know of that spell? I've never even heard of it?"

"Family business, I'm afraid." Blaise told him with a shrug. "Nothing overly important; mother's just paranoid."

"I would be too if I were her." Daphne muttered deliberately loud enough for Blaise to hear her.

"Yes, because there definitely haven't been rumours floating around about the Greengrass family for centuries."

"What rumours?" Harry asked, looking between Blaise and Daphne.

Blaise looked surprised. "You… actually haven't heard anything about my mother?" His voice was measured and careful.

Harry scowled at him. "My apologies, Zabini, but I try not to concern myself with the personal lives of my classmates' mothers."

Blaise smirked. "How perfectly noble of you."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"I'll let Daphne do it, since she seems so eager." Blaise did not sound annoyed, he just looked exceedingly bored.

"His mother has married six men and they have all died mysteriously." Daphne answered dryly.

"The idiots even call her the Black Widow." Blaise added, seemingly amused by the fact.

"And has she… you know…" Tracey trailed off.

'Sometimes, I wonder how that girl is a Slytherin.'

Blaise's face was impassive. "I wouldn't tell you even if I knew." he said by way of an answer. "I will say this though," he added and his eyes flicked towards Harry. Harry figured he thought he would abandon him or something, which was ridiculous. "The Zabini family doesn't need money, nor have we in my life time, so the idiots saying she's trying to get rich are imbeciles."

"As interesting as all of this is," Daphne said with mock interest and a sweet smile, "it still doesn't explain why you picked now to show us this place, Harry. I know you; it's not that you don't trust us, but you wouldn't show us this place if you didn't have a good reason."

"You don't do anything without a good reason." Blaise added, nodding in agreement.

If one did not count curiosity as a set reason, that was not completely true, but Harry was happy to let them think that. Harry looked between the three of them. "As best as I can gather, this room is warded to the teeth. Dumbledore could be standing right outside the entrance right now and I doubt he would hear a thing."

Blaise whistled. "That is my kind of HQ."

Daphne snorted. "And you say that your mother is paranoid."

"It was Potter who brought us here, not me."

"It was you who just implicitly recommended it is a headquarters."

"Do you disagree?"

"That's hardly the point, is it?"

"You two are impossible." Harry noted as Tracey watched them as one might a highly anticipated world tennis final.

"Yet you keep us around." Blaise pointed out with a smirk.

"You might blow my mind and wind up being useful, Zabini." Harry said casually, which actually made Blaise laugh. Daphne smirked appreciatively and Tracey giggled. "Now," he told them, his voice becoming more serious, "if I've managed to decode Old English as well as I think I have, which took a lot of time spent with library books, by the way, this room has a second purpose." The three of them fell deadly quiet. "Anything spoken in this room can be placed under Salazar's Sanction. Best I can piece together is that it is a ridiculously powerful confidentiality oath. It won't actually hurt you or do anything negative to your magic if you try and break it, but it will make it impossible for you to speak of anything classed under it to anyone who doesn't know, even if you don't know they're listening."

For several seconds, the room was silent.

"And I thought you were paranoid." Daphne said to Blaise just as Blaise said, "You're learning."

"Never mind." Daphne said with mock disgust. "You're just as paranoid as I thought you were."

"Why Greengrass, that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me."

"Why Zabini, I'll make you tell me a bunch of nice things if you don't promptly shut your mouth."

"I like this one," Blaise told Harry, wrapping an arm around Daphne since he was one of the few first years taller than her and therefore in a good position to do so, "it's got fangs."

"Sharp ones, too." Harry said absentmindedly as Daphne elbowed Blaise hard in the ribs, causing him to slide his arm away from her. Tracey was cracking up.

"Are you going to use this oath on us then?" Daphne asked. She didn't sound accusing, didn't even sound adverse, just curious.

"Do it." Blaise told him. All three of them looked at him. "What?" he asked with a roll of his eyes. "I never denied that I was paranoid. I can't speak for these lovely ladies, but personally, I'm not planning to blab. At the same time," he said louder, lifting his hands to stall any objections, "I'm also a Slytherin which means, whether you like it or not, I could be blackmailed or bribed to tell somebody the information, or somebody could just eavesdrop on a conversation or such."

"Is whatever you're going to tell us actually that serious though?" asked Tracey.

"Yes." Blaise and Daphne both answered at once before mock glaring at one another.

"Ladies first." Blaise said with a mock bow.

Daphne stuck out her leg and tripped him as he bowed, though Blaise managed to regain his balance. "Harry wouldn't have brought up this Salazar's Sanction if it wasn't."

"Got it in one." Harry told his two friends and smiled at Tracey. "Are any of you opposed to the sanction then?"

"You're sure it will actually stop us instead of just — oh, I don't know… killing us, aren't you Harry?"

"Reasonably."

Daphne sighed. "And you have the nerve to call me impossible." A moment's pause. "I have no objections."

"Nor do I." seconded Blaise.

Tracey hesitated and looked nervously between her three friends.

"If you're uncomfortable, Tracey-"

"No," she said with fiery determination, "no, do it!"

Harry looked at each of them, giving all three of them in turn one last chance to back down before he raised his wand and spoke in a loud, clear voice. He was only thankful he did not have to use Parseltongue. Sanction or not, he still wanted to keep anything too abnormal, let alone frowned upon to himself.

'Nobody likes a freak.'

"I, Harry James Potter, rising member of Salazar's noble house hereby call upon my newly forged connection with the greatest of the Hogwarts four and the legacy which he has left behind. In doing so, I hereby invoke Salazar's Sanction upon The Speaker's Den. As magic is my witness." There was no visible response to his words, but all three of them felt the cold impression of… something close around their chest, as if something cold, oppressive and powerful had taken hold of their hearts. It was not painful, not even unpleasant, but it was very unnerving.

"Well that was beautifully dramatic." Blaise said a minute or so later in a rather chipper voice that broke the oppressive silence that had befallen the four of them. "Well, take it away Harry, my good chap!"

First, Harry filled Daphne and Tracey in on the bit he had told Blaise two weeks ago. Daphne seemed suitably pissed off that he had not told her earlier, but she had the grace not to make a scene about it.

"Well," he said, foreboding heavy in his voice, "I think I know what the thing is guarding." he paused. "Well, I actually have no idea what the thing is guarding, but I know what it's called."

Blaise snorted. "How Gryffindorishly honest of you."

"You've got the houses mixed up again, Blaise. Those are the lovely badgers you're thinking of."

"Oh, my bad. Red and yellow just blend together to me, you know?"

"As interesting as this banter is," Daphne cut him off, "what is it called?"

"The Philosopher's Stone."

Tracey looked as if she had heard the name somewhere before but couldn't place it, but Daphne actually gasped and Blaise, for the first time in Harry's memory, allowed his jaw to fall wide open.

"Ok," Harry deadpanned, "so I'm taking it you two know what it is?"

"Yes." Blaise answered sharply. "I'm surprised you don't."

"I'm not," Daphne added darkly, "not with your…" but she paused, eyes widening for a second, "you haven't told them yet, have you?" she added softly.

"No, but I suppose they can know what they have to for context." he said flatly.

"I was raised by muggles." he spat, causing Tracey to gasp and Blaise's face to actually flush red.

"You were what?!" he asked him.

"Yes," he said darkly, "it's as atrocious as it sounds. My father barely coped with the pressure of raising The-Boy-Who-Lived, so you can imagine how he felt about his brother." In truth, Harry didn't really fault James's reasoning, but he thought his solution was atrocious and was still a long way from forgiving him, even if the two of them had exchanged a few friendly letters back and forth over the course of the school year.

"That's criminal!" Blaise snarled. Blaise was not one of those Slytherins who just went and threw around the words "mudblood" and "blood traitor" but Harry had a pretty good idea how he felt about actual muggles. If truth be told, Harry held absolutely nothing against muggleborns, but muggles themselves… Well, he wasn't about to go commit homicide, but he would never be fond of them. Judging by the look in Daphne's eyes, she didn't think criminal was the half of it, but then again, she knew more than either Blaise or Tracey.

"As interesting as my childhood would undoubtedly be to you," he said, a bit more coldly than intended, "would one of you pureblood prats care to explain what this mystical stone is?"

"It's the pinnacle of alchemy." Daphne explained reverently. Harry absentmindedly thought how typical it was of Daphne to answer with an illusion to one of the most advanced forms of potion making known to man, but he let it slide. "It's been called one of the greatest magical creations of all time. It's a stone that can change any metal to gold and that can create an elixir that makes the drinker immortal… sort of."

Harry had to applaud himself for his correct assumptions about the muggle myths and he could definitely see the appeal of such a stone, but at the moment, Harry was rather fixated upon what was frankly an unacceptable way to end an explanation. "Sort of?"

"If you were to actually kill them," Blaise said conversationally, "they'd die as normal, just as they would if they were to fall off a cliff or something. The stone's elixir makes sure they'll never die of natural causes. The man who created it has lived for centuries."

"That was Flamel, right?" Tracey asked. "I knew I'd heard of it somewhere!"

'Of course it was.'

"Yes." Daphne answered

"Isn't he like… seven hundred?"

Harry's eyes widened.

"Something like that." Blaise answered dryly before looking at Harry. "I don't suppose you have anymore earth shattering revelations to share with us?"

"Er… maybe."

Blaise sighed. "Of course you do." After a pause he rolled his eyes. "Go on then?"

"You all remember the Gringotts break in?"

"Vividly." Daphne said archly.

"Well, Charlus and his friends reckon that whoever broke into Gringotts was going for the stone and that they'll try to take it from Hogwarts too. Apparently, my father picked something up for Dumbledore the same day of the break-in."

"That's rather ominous." decided Blaise.

"My brother thinks it's Snape." Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Tracey looked as if she might agree with that sentiment, but she did not voice that opinion.

"How incredibly dimwitted of him." Blaise drawled, clearly amused.

"For once, Zabini, we're in agreement."

"Good to know you have some sense in that pretty little head of yours, Greengrass."

"Bite me, Zabini."

"Don't tempt me."

Harry let the argument devolve a bit as they all took seats, none of them taking the throne like chair. He didn't really have a purpose for telling his friends all of this beyond learning about the stone, but it was, in a way, nice to have all of that off of his chest and if nothing else, Harry thought the conspiratorial debate that went on that night in The Speaker's Den may have served to bring the group closer together.

* * *

**March 6th 1992.**

**A Room In The Dungeons.**

**7:00 PM.**

"Tonight," Professor Hurst told him, "we will be looking at a spell that none would call dark, but one that is probably the most dangerous spell I have taught you thus far. It is not exceedingly dangerous, but if you mean only to harm your opponent, mind you do not aim somewhere vital." She snapped her wand towards one of the training dummies without warning.

"Diffindo."

A long, deep gash appeared in the dummy's chest and it fell to its knees while the magic of the dummy itself allowed it to mend. "The cutting curse." she told him. "A simple Protego is enough to stop it, but it would tear through any Aegis Vocar shield and if the caster's intent is particularly vicious and well focused, it can be a rather dangerous spell. As well as, of course, if a vital area is struck."

Harry practiced the curse for a while. It took him a number of tries before he got it for the first time. It was an early fourth year spell, so that was not too surprising. Before the end of the lesson, Harry had managed it, and Professor Hurst graced him with a rare smile before tapping her wand against her wrist to check the time.

"Well, that went rather well and we have some time remaining. Your arsenal now is far more versed than when you first entered this room, so, if you are willing, I think you are ready for a mock duel."

Harry felt apprehension rise up within him. "You're certain, Professor?"

"I am." she responded with a reassuring smile. "I will not be looking to strike you down as much as I will be aiming to defend myself and give you some things to think about. I assure you, no harm will befall you during the practice."

Harry hesitated for only a second before nodding, lifting his wand in a defensive posture and taking the stance Professor Hurst had shown him all those months ago. She bowed and he reciprocated. "Normally, a mediator would begin the duel, but as I am reasonably confident in my abilities, I will start on your move."

Harry nodded, hesitated, and snapped his wand up towards Hurst, opening with a whispered cutting curse. Within a split second, Hurst had batted the spell aside and sent a beam of red light towards Harry that he thought was the disarming spell. Instead of blocking, Harry sidestepped, which he had been told was always the better option if possible and fired back a bludgeoning curse that Hurst sidestepped and returned.

The duel did not last long.

Within a minute or so, Harry had taken a powerful bludgeoning curse to the ribs and sat down hard. Hurst had summoned his wand a second or so later. They had gone twice more. By the third duel, Harry had lasted a bit longer, though he had still not come close to landing anything on his professor.

"One more." she told him, taking her stance and prompting Harry to do the same. They traded spells for about thirty seconds before Hurst decided to make it interesting. "Flagrete."

Harry's eyes widened. He had never heard that incantation before, but he had read about it in his book on non-lethal curses. It was a modification of the Incendio spell, another from the book that Harry had practiced and mastered on his own time. The problem with Incendio was that it granted the caster no ability to manipulate the fire beyond where it was directed and how much was summoned. Flagrete, however, allowed the person to mould the fire with their intent. For Hurst, her intent turned out to be fiery ropes which shot towards Harry. Absentmindedly, he noted how grateful he was that Hurst had chosen to duel him with mostly verbal incantations for tonight.

He sidestepped, but his leg seared. One had nicked him. Annoyed, Harry decided to get more creative with the arsenal Hurst had helped him bolster.

"Aguamenti!"

They had touched on the water conjuration spell briefly and Hurst had been suitably impressed when Harry pulled it off. Granted, it took him the entire practice and it had been weak, but it was a sixth year conjuration, if admittedly one of, if not the easiest one. Apparently, this had something to do with the physical composition of a person and its relationship with their magic. Hurst had explained to Harry that since so much of the human body was made up of water, one's mind, and by extension, the magic they wielded instinctively understood water on a level that rendered the spell less difficult to cast. Apparently, when dealing with conjurations, the visualization bit was the most difficult, so with those elements rendered less essential through the aforementioned means, it made the spell by far the easiest conjuration. That was how Hurst had explained it to him, anyway.

Harry had practiced some more on his own time and now, it was a steady, powerful stream of water that shot from his wand and doused the flames. He turned his wand on Hurst, intending on spraying her in the face. She avoided the stream, but it did splash her robes and shoes. With a gleam in his eye, Harry smirked.

"Glacius."

Suddenly, the water that had hit the ground around Hurst's feet froze and she stumbled, not seeming to have been expecting that. Harry sent a disarming charm, a cutting curse, a knockback jinx and a bludgeoning curse her way in quick succession. Perhaps the most useful thing he had been taught was the art of chaining spells together. If one could quickly chain the wand movements for several spells together, they needed only the final incantation and the visualized intent for the prior volley. It was not nearly as ideal as non verbal casting, but it was an advanced skill for a third or fourth year, let alone a first.

Hurst deflected the first spell but lost balance again and for a second, Harry was sure she would fall. That was until her wand twitched towards the ground and she rose several feet above the spellfire and rained her own volley down upon Harry. He managed to hold her off for a moment, but as she chained her own spells together and conjured ropes from air, the duel ended.

"That was very well done, Harry." Hurst commended after helping him to his feet and healing the burn on his leg. "I did not expect the chain attack nor the conjuration of water. You have greatly improved on both."

He smiled sheepishly back up at her. Compliments were still something he was slowly growing accustomed to. "Thank you, Professor. When you told me to practice on my own time, I took it seriously."

"Clearly." she said with a small smile. "Well, it seems the time is growing late. You should return to your dormitory, but I wanted you to know how impressed and proud I am with how far you have come."

An odd, warm feeling rose up in Harry's chest. Proud — she was proud of him — nobody had ever been proud of him before. "Thank you, Professor." he paused. Asking questions was still quite difficult around adults, if admittedly less so than at the beginning of the year. With Professor Hurst, however, it had become quite easy by comparison to other adults. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"How do you just bat spells away without a shield?"

She hesitated. "That is… a rather advanced skill."

"Yes, I'm sure, but can you tell me how you do it?"

She appraised him, but did not deny him the information; she never seemed to deny him the information. "The incantation is Averto and it is a spell that cannot be performed verbally. In addition, one must either, A, know which spell is coming their way and visualize the spell's effects and the appropriate counter before striking the spell with the tip of their wand just before impact. Or, B, put a sufficiently greater amount of power into the deflection than your attacker put into the curse. Without knowing what spell is coming your way, I doubt I need to warn you of the dangers of the second method?"

Harry nodded. Non-verbal casting as a whole was certainly out of his reach for now, but what better introduction than something so useful? If nothing else, it would, even if nothing else could manage, surely get him the O+ he wanted on the end of year exam in Professor Hurst's subject.

* * *

**March 8th 1992.**

**The Library.**

**7:48 PM.**

Harry sighed in relief as finally, he looked up from his essay for Snape. It was a lot more than the man had asked for, but if you wanted an outstanding from Snape, that was a necessity. "Daphne?" he asked, as she, along with Tracey and Blaise were working on their own essays for various subjects at the table. Normally, the four of them would work in the room in the dungeons, or even The Speaker's Den on rare occasions when they were sure they could get in unnoticed. Today however, they had required the near endless resources of the Hogwarts Library.

"Hmm?"

"If I look over your Transfiguration essay and add suggestions for any points that I think will bump it up, will you do the same for my Potions one?"

"I suppose."

He smiled, ignoring the mock glare Tracey shot his way for already being finished and lazed back in his seat, allowing his eyes to roam over the library. As they did, they paused on the doorway. There was Longbottom, of all people, with his legs completely stuck together, looking like he could hardly walk.

"I'll be back in a few minutes." he told his friends, smoothly getting to his feet and striding over towards Longbottom, plastering a look of mild concern onto his face as he walked. "Excuse me, Heir Longbottom?"

Longbottom jolted and would have fallen onto the back of his head had the wall behind him not kept him upright. "Heir P-P-Potter?" he asked nervously.

Harry smiled disarmingly at the boy. "Relax, Longbottom. if I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it when we were alone in the hospital wing." Longbottom did relax, if only a little. "What happened to your legs?" The Gryffindor boy made to answer but snapped his mouth closed, looking hesitant. Harry sighed. "A Slytherin, then?"

Hesitantly, Longbottom nodded. "Malfoy!" he spat hatefully, blushing furiously with embarrassment. "He-he… oh, sorry… you're probably friends with him, aren't you?"

Harry scowled. "Finite Incantatem." he said clearly, waving his wand towards Neville and dispelling the curse. The Gryffindor looked shocked. "If that doesn't answer your question, Longbottom, then here you go. I have no love lost for Malfoy. He's an arrogant prat without an ounce of true cunning or ambition. He is the worst representation of Slytherin house and I would be very grateful if you didn't judge me and my friends based on how Malfoy acts."

Longbottom looked shell shocked. "Of-of course not." he said, still clearly awestruck.

Harry snorted. "Come off it, Longbottom. Surely you realize that not everybody in the same house and year are friends?" he looked pointedly at him. "I don't see you hanging around with Weasley and Finnigan, by example." Conveniently, Harry forgot to mention his brother.

Neville flushed. "I-I don't really have many friends, actually."

As immoral as such a thing might have been, Harry could have smiled in victory. Longbottom had made this whole thing way too easy. "Well then, how about you come work with mine? None of us like Malfoy and we'll all treat you decent. I'll show you how to counter the leg-locker that Malfoy hit you with too once we're out of the library. It'll work on pretty much any spell like that."

Longbottom looked awed. "Y-y-you're sure?"

Harry smiled widely. "Positive."

* * *

**March 9th 1992.**

**The Potions Classroom.**

**9:11 AM.**

"Your task," barked Snape, "is to brew me an acceptable rendition of a headache cure before the end of this class. Begin."

"Apologies, Blaise, but I have a different partner in mind today." Harry said with an apologetic smile. He got to his feet and, shocking all in the room in the process, quickly crossed the divide between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Once he had done so, sauntered right on up to Neville, who had quickly insisted upon first names the night prior while Harry was helping with his Potions essay. The way Harry did it made it seem as if it was nothing at all out of the ordinary.

"Would you like to work together today, Neville?" Harry asked, smiling.

Neville looked more shocked than he had at any point the night before. "Why would you want to work with me?" he asked in awe. "I'm rubbish at Potions, I'll just mess it up."

Harry was acutely aware that the entire class, plus probably Snape were watching the exchange curiously. Some were a lot more subtle about it than others, but Harry was sure they were all watching.

"I don't think you're rubbish," Harry said easily, shooting a glare towards Finnigan, whom Neville had often partnered with and who had tried to curse Harry several times at the beginning of the year with no success, "I just don't think you've had very good partners." Finnigan glared right back as Harry smiled innocently at the hot tempered Gryffindor before returning his full attention onto Neville. "If you don't want to-"

"No, no, I want to." Neville said eagerly. If nothing else, Harry was regarded as one of the best students in the class; likely second behind Daphne. Harry smiled at him again and this time it was completely genuine. Neville could be useful to him for certain, but Harry could just tell the boy had potential in leaps and bounds. If he could only help Neville with that confidence… well, he was already an all around decent bloke and could probably become a more than decent wizard.

"Perfect! Let's get started then!"

Miraculously, Harry managed to prevent Neville from blowing anything up during the lesson. There had been several close calls, mainly when Snape loomed near, but if nothing else, Neville had no problems following Harry's instructions and by the end of the lesson, they turned in a potion that had no obvious flaws. Mind you, it wasn't Harry's best, far from it, and Malfoy and Nott, as well as Blaise and Parkinson, Granger and Thomas and of course, Daphne and Tracey had actually finished before them, but Harry considered it a win nonetheless.

When they left the class, Tracey was throwing Harry some not so subtle, very inquisitive looks, but Daphne was just leveling him with a calculating, icy look and Blaise was smirking at him knowingly.

* * *

**March 21st 1992.**

**The Great Hall.**

**8:11 AM.**

Harry, Daphne, Blaise and Tracey took seats with three of their fourth year friends, Calypso and the Carrows the morning of the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff match. Cassius looked as nervous as he had for the match against Gryffindor months earlier but this time, he was seated with the Quidditch team. Best Harry could work out, the only reason they had not sat together for that opening match had something to do with the death of their seeker, as it seemed like Slytherin tradition for the team to sit together the morning of a match. Harry shot him what he hoped was an encouraging smile and Cassius nodded back to him in thanks.

Harry and his friends made a point of sitting with the fourth years at least once a week and had done so now for the past few months. The upper years had by now accepted all of Harry's friends without issue, even Tracey, even if the Carrows still shot her the odd glare for her occasional bluntness.

"Good day for flying." Blaise said casually and it was true. The ceiling high, high above them displayed cloudless blue skies and faultless rays of sunlight that would not have been out of place in a muggle utopia.

"It is." Harry said a bit longingly.

"You really love it, don't you?" Daphne asked him. "I mean, you're very good at it, but I was never really sure."

He shrugged. "I don't care much for the lessons." he said honestly. "I'd love to take my own broom for a spin without restraints if I had one."

"You'll have to come to the manor this summer." she told him. "I'm not really one for flying much, but I go out sometimes and we have a collection of fairly good brooms. They're nothing like your brother's Nimbus, but they're all quite good."

Harry smiled a genuine smile. "That does sound like a good idea."

"Have you never flown freely?" Calypso asked him. That girl was as perceptive as she was attentive, and she was both to be certain.

"No." he answered shortly. It was not an impolite tone of voice that he used, but it was one he had mastered over the year that made it very clear he was not keen to answer any questions.

She raised her eyebrow. "I was meaning to speak with you, Harry." she told him. "Me, Hestia, Flora and Cassius practice duelling and some other magic and such every Saturday night. We won't tonight, since hopefully there will be a massive after party, but we were wondering if you would like to join us next Saturday?"

Harry picked up on a few things. The Carrows did not look at him as Calypso made that statement. The invitation was not necessarily closed to his friends, but they were not exactly included in it either. And the way she said "and other magic and such" hinted that not everything practiced there was completely legal.

He smiled graciously back at her without pause. "Thank you, Calypso, I'd love to join you next Saturday."

Before he knew it, Harry and his friends were packed into the stands to watch their house take on Hufflepuff. Very early on, it was apparent Slytherin was by far the superior team. They went up 60-0 before Hufflepuff scored their first goal, and Slytherin scored another three before Hufflepuff struck again.

The most interesting thing that happened during the match was not Slytherins dominance though. Nor was it Diggory's too late catch of the snitch that brought Hufflepuff within ten points, but still handed them the loss. No, the most interesting part of the match happened in the ensuing chaos of the match's completion. He did not, unfortunately hear what was said, but to say Harry was shocked when Neville Longbottom threw himself at Draco Malfoy, knocking the blonde to the floor as the Gryffindor unloaded punches on him would have been a massive understatement. Before he knew it, Charlus and Ron had entered the fray, as had Crabbe, Goyle and Nott. Harry's hand twitched towards his wand, but Daphne's "don't you dare" stare made him falter.

In the end, Malfoy left with a black eye and busted lip, Neville with a bloody nose, Charlus and Nott... well, he wasn't sure, their duel had sort of spiralled out of control and they had been surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. Weasley, who had been dumb enough to try and take on Crabbe and Goyle at the same time landed himself in the hospital wing, but Harry could not force himself to care.

'Not what I had in mind, Longbottom, but a step in the right direction nonetheless.'

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Two brief notes to clear some things up.**

**Firstly, Neville is not going to become super close with Harry anytime soon if at all. I have seen them be the best of friends in so many Slytherin Harry stories and I have no desire of blindly following that cliche. I am establishing the beginnings of that trope, but I intend to subvert it in time and it is not going the way you think it will. **

**Secondly, before anybody tries to correct me in the reviews, I am aware that it is said in HBP that Blaise's mother has been widowed seven times, not six. This is deliberate on my part, not an error. For now, let's just say that the events of HBP are still four years away and leave it at that. **

**Only three more chapters left in year 1. The next one is a bit on the short side as well, but I assure you it is not short on action. As a matter of fact, I can't wait for the tidal wave of reviews that will inevitably follow it.**

**I keep saying it but it is just true! Thank you guys so much for the amazing support on this story! This story has gained about a hundred followers per week without fail for the last five or so weeks, and I am absolutely blown away by that fact. I'm not sure if 2k followers by the end of year 1 is doable, but here's hoping!**

**Special shoutout to StarWalker from my Discord for his additional edits on this chapter.**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, May 23rd 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	16. TFA Ch 15: The Dragon's Wrath Part I

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story. **

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile and for . I had to write it in that format for the site to allow it on my profile.**

**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on profile to get even more out of my written works.**

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.**

**Chapter 15: The Dragon's Wrath Part I.**

* * *

**March 21st 1992.**

**The Quidditch Stands.**

**10:57 AM.**

"Look at the stupid blood traitor go for the snitch." Malfoy jeered when it became evident that Diggory was about to make the catch. "What an idiot! They're behind by 160." Crabbe and Goyle smirked stupidly.

"I'm surprised you can count that high, Malfoy." snarked Charlus, who had endured about as many of the blonde's comments as he could handle over the near two hour duration of the Quidditch match.

"Really, Potter? I would suspect you of doubting Weasley's ability to count, but not mine." Malfoy smirked. "But then again, I suppose he could practice on all of his brothers while I practiced on more important things."

"Money isn't everything, Malfoy." said a quiet, slightly shaky yet defiant voice from nearby. When they all turned, many of them had to do double takes to make sure they were seeing the speaker for who he truly was.

Malfoy didn't even seem to know how to respond at first but then, his face split into a wide grin and he started to laugh. "Apologies, Longbottom, if I don't take a squib's view on the world seriously."

Neville flushed but did not back down. "It's not my view, Malfoy, it's the truth. If money was everything, you'd have friends, not followers. If money was everything, you'd have all of Slytherin eating out of your hands, but you're not even the top player in your year!"

Malfoy's face flushed as Charlus and Ron howled with laughter in support of Neville. "Not the top player? Shut your mouth, you filthy little blood traitor! Who is then? Who's the top player?"

"Harry."

Malfoy froze and for a second, an emotion that Neville couldn't place flashed across his face before Malfoy sneered. "Competent Potter will get his soon enough." Malfoy promised. "I thought there was hope for him but he'll go the same as you," he sneered at Charlus, "the same as your parents, or maybe even yours!" This last bit was directed towards Neville and it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Before Malfoy could do so much as move, Neville had hurled himself at the blonde and knocked him forcefully onto his back. Neville hardly even registered the fact that he was sitting atop the blonde's chest, raining down blows, or that Nott had tried to curse him and Charlus had leapt between them. Or, even, that Ron had tried to take on the two largest kids in the year on his own. Neville only saw red as his anger exploded out of him in waves.

* * *

**March 23rd 1992.**

**The Potions Classroom.**

**9:41 AM.**

After partnering with Daphne the previous Friday, Harry had chosen to partner with Neville once more and had once again managed to guide him through what he thought would be a low O level potion. As the class made to depart, however, Harry stopped Neville with a hand on his shoulder.

"I heard about what happened at the match." he said seriously. It was true. Parkinson had loudly told the story in the common room, something that had annoyed Malfoy to no end.

Neville smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I've got detention with McGonagall for the next two Saturdays, but it was worth it."

Harry grinned genuinely back at him. "Yeah, that was good work, Neville. In future though, don't land yourself in too much trouble on my behalf. I didn't do anything to earn that kind of loyalty from you and you shouldn't rise to his taunts about your parents. They were heroes — still are."

Neville shook his head. "You've helped me a lot, Harry. I would do a lot more than punch Malfoy for you. Plus," Neville added with an uncharacteristic smirk, "he's a bit of a git."

Harry couldn't help it. He broke his no laughing in public rule on the spot, which drew the attention of much of Slytherin's first year, but he didn't care. "Too true, Neville." he said once he had recovered enough to speak. "Too true."

* * *

**March 28th 1992.**

**An Abandoned Classroom.**

**8:46 PM.**

"Is this the room you always use?" Harry asked his older group of friends as they led him into an abandoned classroom that he could feel was warded in some way or another.

"Yes," Calypso told him with a rather proud smile, "me and Hestia have spent almost two years warding the place."

"A teacher could walk right by and they'd never notice a thing." Hestia Carrow added with a rather proud smile, something that was a rarity on her visage.

"Duelling then?" Flora asked, twirling her wand suggestively.

"Sure," Calypso told her, removing her own wand from a holster with a lazy flick of her wrist. "I'll take you on, if you'd like. Cassius, Hestia, would you like a round?" She turned to Harry. "You don't mind observing a round or two, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all." he answered honestly. He thought he could learn a great deal from watching the older students duel.

Calypso smiled. "Cassius, Hestia, would you like to go first?" Hestia simply stepped forward with a flourish. Cassius nodded stiffly and stepped into the circle of Runes drawn upon the floor, standing across from his foe. "What do you say Harry takes on the loser of this duel?" Neither older student objected and Harry's focus on the duel quickly sharpened.

Within the first thirty seconds, he realized he likely wouldn't win either way, though privately, he thought he'd have a much better shot against Cassius. It wasn't a mismatch, per se. Cassius seemed good, but it was clear that Hestia was on another level. Within two minutes, the duel had ended with Cassius casting a spell apparently called "dueller's defeat" when a rather nasty looking spell from Hestia had caused him to cry out in pain.

"You see the Runes on the floor?" Calypso asked, indicating the circle in which Hestia and Cassius had duelled, he nodded. "Those will keep any magic within them, as long as you're not going too overboard. Anyway, it will keep the duellists confined and if one of them gets hit with something like Cassius did, they can just cast duellers defeat and the wards will push them out and counter the spell. Again, within reason."

Harry nodded as Calypso and Flora stepped forward.

This duel was faster and far more intense. Flora seemed on a level similar to her sister in terms of ability, but it was clear almost immediately she would lose. Calypso seemed to be in a completely different league altogether and though Flora managed to hold her off for a time, she didn't really manage anything offensive and was beaten quite soundly.

'Damn, she's good; really good.'

"You're up, Harry." said Calypso after a few minutes of discussion. He nodded mutely and stepped into the circle across from Cassius before bowing. Cassius reciprocated and they both raised their wands.

Calypso counted them down. "Three, two, one — commence!"

"Stupefy!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Cassius's stunner and Harry's full-body-bind met in mid air, causing a flash of bright red light and a sound like a firecracker as they were both sent off course. Harry reacted to the break faster than Cassius and sent a quick disarming spell at him chained with a full body bind. Cassius's eyes widened at the chaining, but his shield managed to hold against both spells, if just barely.

"Lacero!" he returned, and having no idea what that spell would do, Harry dodged left. Unfortunately, Cassius had anticipated that and intercepted Harry with a less dangerous but rather painful cutting curse that opened up a gash on his arm. Snarling, Harry dodged Cassius's next two spells and fired a bolt of fire at Cassius with the Incendio charm that forced the older boy to dive to the side.

"Aguamenti, Glacius!" Quickly, Harry sprayed and froze the ground underneath Cassius as he dove to the side, causing him to skid out of control. Harry took aim with the disarming charm, but before he could get it off, Cassius had fired a spell Harry did not recognise towards his legs and he had to leap to the side. That gave Cassius enough time to stand to his feet and the boy's visage was hard and cold now.

"Everte Statum!"

"Protego!"

Cassius's eyes widened again as Harry's hastily conjured shield absorbed the spell and allowed Harry to go on the offensive. He managed to land a cutting curse on Cassius's arm but that was the extent of his success in the duel. He did well, extremely well for somebody his age, but he had inevitably been overwhelmed. By the time the duel had concluded, he had taken a nasty bludgeoner, another cutter and a spell that Harry did not recognize that caused a rather vicious burn on his arm. Eventually, Cassius caught him with a well placed tripping jinx before Everte Statum sent him to his knees as a shockwave of pain ran up his body. In that time, Cassius had snuck in an Expelliarmus to end the duel.

As soon as Harry's wand had been rested away from him, Cassius strode towards him and offered him a hand up. "That was brilliant!" Cassius congratulated him. "You surprised the hell out of me!"

"Amen!" said Calypso, stepping forward and healing the cut on Harry's shoulder with her wand. "Harry, that was incredible! You just kept up with a fourth year for several minutes on end!"

He shrugged. "I played my cards too early."

"Yes, you did," admitted Hestia with what sounded like genuine respect, "but they kept you in the duel long enough for it to become interesting, which was a lot more than any of us expected."

Harry smirked. "That may be the first compliment you've ever paid me, Carrow. Backhanded as it is, I'll take it."

"Hestia." she told him sharply. She did not smile, but there was no sign of the usual coldness in her eyes. Harry had earned her respect, it seemed.

"Flora." echoed her twin.

Harry genuinely beamed at the two of them. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Harry for me, please."

* * *

**April 5th 1992.**

**The Gryffindor Common Room.**

**8:31 PM.**

"I've got it!" Hermione exclaimed victoriously, snapping Ron and Charlus out of their rather one sided chess game to blink at their bushy haired friend. Hermione's smile was wide and beaming and she held up a rather hulking tome that neither boy had ever seen before.

"Got what?" Ron asked, bemused.

"Nicholas Flamel!" she said again, not daring to mention the Philosopher's Stone in the crowded confines of the Gryffindor common room. All at once, the drowsiness left Charlus's visage as he quickly summoned his wand to his hand and gave it a twitch.

"Muffliato."

Immediately, the magic flowed from his Holly wand. "We won't be overheard." he told the two of them. Both were familiar with the charm, as he had used it several times during similar discussions about the mystery of Flamel and the stone. "You think you've figured it out, Hermione?"

"I'm sure of it!" she said proudly, turning the page to face them. "Read this!" Shooting each other wary glances, Charlus and Ron leant forward.

_The intricacies of Alchemy are complex and multi layered and on the path to alchemical mastery are many hurdles, both physical and intellectual in nature. In saying so, the applications of Alchemy are primarily limited by creativity alone. By example, the common consensus is that the greatest alchemical discovery/innovation of all time was created by Nicholas Flamel in the early 15th century. The Philosopher's Stone, or to give it it's original name in Flamel's native tongue, La Pierre Philosophale is an object that can create two separate elixirs. The first is capable of transforming any metal into gold upon making contact and the second is commonly referred to as "the elixir of life." The latter elixir does not grant unconditional immortality, but it will permanently protect the drinker from death via natural causes if it is consistently consumed. By example, Nicholas Flamel has lived a long, happy life spanning over six centuries. He now nears his 665th birthday, where as his wife, Paranel, recently celebrated her 658th._

Heavy silence followed Ron's and Charlus's completion of that excerpt. "Blimey." Ron muttered. "Endless money and immortality."

"I can see why somebody wants to steal it." Charlus admitted, his visage resolute. He turned towards Hermione. "Hermione, you're brilliant and all, but how the hell did you find this?"

"When you mentioned The Philosopher's Stone after that Quidditch match, I remembered a muggle myth about it. They have the alchemy bit right, so I just ordered a book on alchemy from Flourish and Blotts."

Ron and Charlus exchanged looks. "This is not good." Charlus decided. "Not good at all."

* * *

**April 15th 1992.**

**The Library.**

**11:46 AM.**

The first three days of the Easter holidays had passed thus far in peace for Charlus, Ron and Hermione. Now, the three of them sat in the library. Hermione had taken the liberty of drawing them up exam study guides and they were, thanks to her intense persistence, finally putting them to use. That was until a hulking, familiar, impossible to miss figure sidled his way out of a row of shelves.

"Hey, Hagrid!" Ron greeted cheerfully, seeming to exalt at the break in work. Rather uncharacteristically, Hagrid flinched upon hearing his name and made a rather obvious show of shoving something behind his back.

"Oh, mornin' Ron, Charlus, Hermione."

"What are you doing in here, Hagrid?" Charlus asked. He was pretty sure that he had never spotted Hagrid in the library before today.

"Jus' lookin'." Hagrid said innocently. "How are yeh're classes goin'?"

"We're on break now," Ron pointed out, "but they were going alright, I guess."

"Good, good," Hagrid said distractedly, "well it was nice talkin' to the three o' ya's. I've gotta go down to me hut n' check on me dinner."

As soon as he had left the library, Hermione was on her feet, clearly intent on investigating whatever Isle Hagrid had emerged from. When she came out she wore a rather worried, rather thoughtful look on her face.

"Well?" Charlus asked, having picked up on her intentions several minutes earlier.

"Dragons," she told them darkly, causing Ron to look up sharply from his Charms textbook, "more specifically, dragon breeding."

* * *

**April 16th 1992.**

**The Library.**

**7:33 PM.**

"So, you mean to tell me," Harry asked his brother during their weekly Thursday get together in the library under the protection of the Muffliato spell, "that you, Weasley and Granger think that Hagrid is hatching a baby dragon in his wooden hut?" Harry knew Hagrid wasn't the brightest soul around, but he could not fathom the sheer stupidity one would have to possess to think it a good idea to raise a dragon in a hut built from wood.

Charlus nodded solemnly. "We're almost positive." he told his twin. "Last night, me, Ron and Hermione went down there. There was something in the fire but he wouldn't let us get a look at it. All the windows are covered by curtains and it's hot as hell in there. Hermione's been doing research and said that dragons are best hatched in hot, humid environments." he let that statement hang in the air.

"Please, please don't tell me you're planning to get involved or go anywhere near that dragon?"

"We can't just let Hagrid get thrown out for raising the thing!"

"Charlus, I don't know how to break this to you, but the law is there for a reason. If somebody chooses to break the law, they have also chosen to face the consequences. If you go near that hut, and let's just ignore the possibility of you getting burned to a crisp and focus on all of the other very real things that could go wrong. You could be expelled for conspiring with Hagrid. If you try to get rid of the dragon, you could be expelled for smuggling a dragon; which is also a five year sentence in Azkaban if I'm not mistaken." Tracey was rather fond of magical creatures and had once said how brilliant it would be to raise a dragon if the ministry allowed her, but she had mentioned the Azkaban sentence.

"But we can't let Hagrid-"

"Listen to me, Charlus! If you're expelled from Hogwarts over something as stupid as a dragon, your reputation as The-Boy-Who-Lived isn't going to be able to save you. At best, you'll be given a chance to flee the country if father pulls some hefty strings. At worst, you'll be thrown in Azkaban right alongside Voldemort's old lot. Suit yourself, brother dear, but you could not pay me to get involved in that disaster waiting to happen."

That shut Charlus up in a hurry.

* * *

**April 16th 1992.**

**The Speaker's Den.**

**10:38 PM.**

Silence followed Harry's retelling of his meeting with Charlus earlier that day. He had not bothered imposing Salazar's Sanction for such a meeting, but he had wanted to do it well out of prying eyes and ears.

"So you mean to tell me that our esteemed gamekeeper is raising a dragon?" Blaise asked, sounding almost amused by the thought. "That is delightfully foolish."

"And let's not skip over the fact that your brother wants to help him." muttered Daphne. "How are you two related?"

"Because we grew up in two opposite environments." Harry proposed darkly. "I always thought I got the short end of the stick, but things like this make me wonder." The look Daphne shot him made it clear that such jokes were not funny when one had more context, but Blaise allowed a bell like laugh and Tracey grinned.

"You have a very morbid sense of humour." Blaise told him approvingly.

'Oh, Zabini, you have no idea.'

"So, the Philosopher's Stone is at Hogwarts, somebody is probably trying to steal it, AND there's a dragon?" Tracey asked for clarification.

"And," Harry added exasperatedly, "my brother has taken an interest in both."

Blaise snorted. "See, Harry? Even before we were friends I didn't lie to you. Dumbledore is off his rocker!"

"Or completely incompetent." proposed Tracey.

"Definitely not," Daphne said darkly, "nobody has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore, and he is almost always in control."

That sounded awfully familiar and then, Harry realized why.

"_Nobody has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore." Lady Weitts said darkly. _That was rather interesting. Those two statements seemed way too similar to one another.

"This is all great to know about," Blaise said carefully, eying Harry with a certain degree of caution, "but please tell me you're only telling us this to be safe? You don't have any plans of joining in on this, do you?"

"Not unless I really have to." he answered. "But something tells me this whole thing is going to go terribly wrong." 'And I'm going to get dragged into it.' he added internally.

* * *

**April 24th 1992.**

**The Slytherin Common Room.**

**7:49 PM.**

For the first time since receiving the gift from Dumbledore at Christmas, the piece of parchment Harry had that was linked to the one in his brother's possession emitted a soft, blue light. Harry's eyes narrowed. The two twins had made a pact only to use these pieces of parchment in emergencies in an effort to keep them secret. As discreetly as he could manage, Harry pulled out the parchment and eyed it carefully.

_The dragon hatched today. It's apparently a Norwegian Ridgeback if that means anything to you. The more important thing is that Malfoy almost definitely knows. We caught him spying through a gap in the curtains and he ran from the hut at full speed._

Harry actually cursed aloud. Well, whispered, but it still drew startled expressions from Tracey, Daphne and Blaise. He shook his head, indicating for them to go back to their homework as he wrote his response.

_Hagrid better get rid of it quickly then. Whatever you want to say about Malfoy, he's not going to pass up an opportunity like this. _

It took only a moment for the response to come.

_Wow, what a display of Slytherin cunning. I'd have never thought of that. _

Harry actually smirked at the reply. He hadn't been quite certain his brother was capable of sarcasm.

* * *

**April 27th 1992.**

**The Potions Classroom.**

**10:29 AM.**

Harry and Neville had brewed what the former considered to be quite the impressive potion that Monday morning. It was, without a doubt, the best the pair of them had managed up to that point and for the first time working together, they managed to finish only behind Daphne and Tracey.

"Brilliant work, Neville." Harry said with a smile. It was half true. Harry had carried him through the brewing process for certain but now, unlike when the pair had first partnered together over a month ago, Neville didn't panic and try to add ingredients at random every time Snape came within twenty feet of the pair. He was still incompetent in the subject even if he was nearing closer to competency every time Harry worked with him but by this point, he was no longer a danger to his partner and those in his general vacinity.

Neville beamed at him. "Thanks a ton, Harry. This has been… uh, really helpful."

Harry smiled. "I'm only doing what I can, Neville. That's what friends are for."

The bell chose that moment to ring, signifying the end of class and with a pleasant goodbye to Neville, Harry made his way out of the classroom. When he did so, Goyle chose that same moment to try and rush out of the door. The hulking boy slammed into Harry and both of them stumbled. Goyle reached out, whether to catch Harry or steady himself Harry wasn't sure but in the process, he managed to pull a few hairs clean out of Harry's head. Within a second, Harry had extricated himself from the boy and was glaring at him openly, allowing the damper he usually put on his eyes to slip. "What the hell are you doing, Goyle?"

The boy gulped nervously. "Uh… nothing, s-sorry, Potter. I was j-just in a hurry."

"Hurry up then." Harry snarled, waving a hand for the idiot to go ahead of him.

"That was odd." commented Blaise a minute later after Harry had caught up with him, Daphne and Tracey.

"He's an idiot." Harry bit back with a roll of his eyes. "He doesn't know his lefts from his rights. Probably thought grabbing me would keep him upright, and let's just ignore the fact he's twice my size and would have just pulled both of us down."

"That would have been unfortunate." Blaise said dryly. "I dare say you'd be a bit embarrassed and I have a feeling poor Goyle would be spending a night in the infirmary."

Harry crooked an eyebrow. "What makes you think I could put him in the infirmary?"

Blaise's smirk was all too knowing. "Oh, just a suspicion, Harry. You can call it a gut feeling, if you'd like."

* * *

**May 1st 1991.**

**A Room In The Dungeons.**

**7:02 PM.**

"Before we begin tonight's session," Hurst began, "I would like to inquire as to how you are holding up in light of the oncoming examinations? I have no doubt that you will perform more than admirably on said examinations, but I do not wish to monopolize your time if you believe it could be spent better studying."

"I'm doing ok, professor." Harry answered honestly. "I'm quite far ahead of the curriculum, to be honest."

Hurst's eyebrow quirked. "I will not inquire as to Defense, because I have a fairly accurate idea, I would presume. How far ahead are you in your other subjects? If, of course, you do not view my inquisition as invasive."

Harry shrugged. "Near the end of second year in Transfiguration and Charms. I hope to finish the second year curriculum in the former before the end of the school year, but I don't know whether or not that will actually happen."

"And the other subjects?" It was a mark of either Hurst's perceptiveness or self control that she did not even react to that information. Either she had pieced as much together herself, or she was remarkably adept at hiding her emotions. Harry thought both were likely true.

"That depends on the subject." he said honestly. "I'm probably mid second year in Potions and a bit into the year in Herbology." he shrugged. "I'm really not that far ahead in Astronomy and History, but I think I'll be able to manage O's without too much issue." That response was far more open than the variants he would typically give out, but if any adult had earned Harry's trust this year, it was Professor Hurst.

She nodded curtly. "In that case, I think these lessons can continue until the beginning of exams themselves unless you have any objections?"

"No ma'am, I would actually prefer that."

Hurst's lips twitched. "I had suspected as much, but I do not wish to sacrifice your grades so I had to be sure."

Harry nodded; he understood. "What will we be covering tonight, professor?"

"Tonight, we will be covering an offensive spell that is a staple in the arsenals of most any duelist from the level of amateur to former and future World Champions." She took aim at the dummies on the far wall, the ones that were charmed to react to magic as a person would.

"Stupefy."

A bolt of red light streaked out from the end of Hurst's wand and slammed into the dummy's chest, dead center. In response, it immediately crumpled to the floor, where it lay, unmoving, until Hurst flicked her wand and caused a flash of silver. Harry presumed she had ended the spell, though its counter was very obviously not the typical Finite Incantatem.

"I think I may have seen that spell before." Harry mused quietly, more to himself than to Hurst. It had looked awfully reminiscent of one that Cassius had sent his way during their brief duel, and he thought that Stupefy had been the incantation.

Hurst's eyebrows rose, if marginally. "Oh? It is not an overly complex spell, though it is not taught until fourth year. I must confess to being curious as to where you have seen the spell before?"

Harry hesitated. He trusted Hurst, but was this something to reveal? Again, he just felt like he could trust her, so hesitantly, he answered. "I… took part in a bit of practice with some of my friends in upper years."

Hurst showed no visible reaction. "Would the question of who these friends of yours be too personal?"

Harry debated for a second before answering. "Cassius Warrington, the Carrow twins and Calypso Rosier."

Hurst's eyebrows rose further. "An impressive lineup." she complimented. "Cassius Warrington is above average in my subject, both Hestia and Flora are among my top students and I would say that Calypso Rosier is bordering on the title of prodigy."

Harry blinked; he had known Calypso was good, very good even, but to be considered even close to a prodigy by Hurst, who was fair but extremely harsh and critical was a feat in and of itself.

"See that you maintain those alliances if possible." Hurst told him. "They will be very beneficial to you in the future."

And that was all she said on the matter as she quickly transitioned into helping Harry through the process of learning the stunning spell and its counter.

* * *

**May 7th 1992.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**

**8:32 PM.**

After spending several hours in the library, Harry paused while making his way back down to the dungeons when his ring began to press its magic against his consciousness. There were three people nearby, up ahead and around the corner. Slowly, Harry took a breath and vanished before peeking around the corner. There was nobody there, but he could feel the magic emanating from the nearest classroom door, which stood ajar. With a mental roll of his eyes, Harry wondered when people would learn to close doors around here.

Focusing on the room, Harry turned his ring three times to the right and the conversation suddenly came into clear focus.

"We'll get him." It was Malfoy speaking, and he spoke with as much confidence as Harry could imagine. "When Potter tries to smuggle the dragon out tomorrow night, we'll get him." Harry's heart froze. He had told Charlus that he wanted nothing to do with the plan, but hearing the fact that his brother was going to smuggle the dragon out in twenty four hours was rather jarring. That was, of course, assuming that Malfoy was not simply bluffing. The confidence in his voice was evident though, and privately, Harry didn't think Malfoy was that good of an actor. "We'll intercept it without any problems." Malfoy continued easily. "When we do, it's game over for Potter."

Harry had heard all he needed to. Disabling his disillusionment, he made to step around the corner and get away from the room, but as he did so, his entire body went rigid, even though no spell had hit him.

'Shit.'

Within a second, the conversation inside the room had died off and Harry felt someone grabbing and dragging him into said room. Before he knew what was happening, he was propped up against the wall, still completely immobilized from what felt like a full body bind as Malfoy sneered down at him.

"Thought I left the door ajar, did you Potter?" he asked with a taunting smirk. Mentally, Harry took a note to never underestimate an opponent again.

Draco smiled down at him. "It's nice of you to join us though. You're just in time for us to tell you what's going on." Harry then spotted the other three boys in the room. One was Theodore Nott, which Harry really should have expected after the fiasco in Defense all those months ago. The other two, one, again, he should have anticipated. Andrew Macnair had made it pretty clear what he thought of Harry on the first night, but the third… Daniel Selwyn, the fifth year prefect. Harry had never said so much as a word to Selwyn. He had no idea what the boy would possibly have against him.

"Surprised, Potter?" Malfoy drawled casually, leaning up against the wall as he leered down at him. "You really shouldn't be. You didn't think I'd just let that frame job go, did you?" He was not smirking anymore. "I still don't know how you did it, but it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"I think we should let the half blood talk, Draco." Macnair drawled. "It would be amusing and ropes will have the same effect as the body-bind."

"Go on then if you want, Andrew."

For a second, Harry felt the relief of the full-body-bind lift but before he could so much as move, ropes tied themselves so tightly around his body that they dug painfully into his skin. It took every bit of Harry's will not to scream at Malfoy but when he spoke, his voice was calm, measured and almost bored in tone.

"A fourth and a fifth year, Malfoy? I'm disappointed. You couldn't take down a first year without their help?"

"Couldn't is a strong word, Potter. When you have friends, true friends, you don't need to do all of the heavy lifting sometimes." he smirked. "Especially when they both don't like you."

Harry glared at Macnair. "I would expect this from you," he snarled, "and you," he added to Nott dismissively, "but what did I ever do to you, Selwyn?"

The boy sneered. "You're not worth my time, Potter. This is bigger than you."

"Don't tell me he's paying-"

"Tormensia!"

The dark purple curse that left Selwyn's wand struck Harry and wracked his body. Every muscle felt as if it was folding in on itself. He managed not to scream, but it was a near miss and he bit right through his bottom lip in the process, causing a thin stream of blood to trickle down his chin and onto his robes. When the pain lifted about fifteen seconds later, he was breathing heavily.

Now he sneered at them with his hatred unmasked. "This is going to backfire like a bitch, Malfoy." he hissed. If that line was out of character for an eleven year old, he didn't care. He had heard plenty of Vernon's more inventive curses while locked up in his cupboard and it was only inevitable that he'd pick up a few. "When I get out of here, I'm going to ruin you, and I have older friends too, friends that will ruin your lapdogs." That comment earned him another round of the Tormensia curse from Selwyn. This time, it drew a groan from Harry, but he would not give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

"That's the beauty, Potter." Macnair told him. "By the time you get out, it will already be too late. You'll be thrown out of this place and hopefully into Azkaban to boot. You won't do shit and it'll be too late for Weitts to save her favourite protégé." If Harry was more calm, he may have wondered how the boy had come to the conclusion that he was Weitts's protégé. Currently, however, he was too busy dealing with far more pressing matters like the pain of Selwyn's spell and the internal panic that wracked his brain.

"Care to fill him in, Draco?"

"With pleasure, Andrew. This room has been warded by Daniel here," he indicated Selwyn. "No one will find you until we come get you tomorrow night. By that time, we'll have intercepted the dragon that your brother's brought into the castle and bring it into Professor Snape." Malfoy smirked. "Of course, your brother's annoying, but he's no more so than that. You, Potter, for all of your drawbacks have actually been too much of a problem. Sure, I could sell out your brother, but this whole thing started with frame jobs, so it may as well end that way."

Harry actually laughed loudly, if a bit maniacally. "How the hell do you think you're going to frame me while I'm locked up in here? My brother's a lot of things but he's too stupid and too noble to let me take the fall, even if you somehow manage it."

"That's the thing, Potter. For all Professor Snape will know, you'll be in this room because you put up too much of a fight to bring quietly. Your dear old brother, for all of his talents, isn't immune to a memory charm."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "You can't-"

"No, but I can." drawled Selwyn with a smirk.

"And for you, competent Potter," Malfoy drawled, reaching into his pocket and removing a glass vial with a single hair, "we're going to make sure this ends up on whatever container the idiots try and bring the dragon in with." Silently, Harry realized that was now twice he had underestimated somebody and twice that it had backfired. He had merely thought Goyle was an idiot, but there had been a greater purpose after all. Malfoy smirked at him as he came to these revelations. "With that plus the word of three heirs to Ancient and Most Noble Houses, you'll not only be expelled, but you'll be convicted of dragon smuggling." Malfoy's grin widened. "Do you know what the sentence is for dragon smuggling?"

"Five years." Harry bit out, refusing to let Malfoy realize how utterly terrified he was as realization began to set in.

Malfoy's smile was wide and predatory. "Got it in one! Do you know, Potter, what that means for the heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House?" When it became clear he didn't, Malfoy decided to enlighten him. "It means, Potter, that you're eligible to be disinherited." Harry's eyes practically bulged out of his head. Malfoy smirked. "Now, I don't think your father's cruel enough to just do it for no reason, but if his forgotten son disgraced the family by committing such a heinous crime…"

"And it opened the door for the famous Boy-Who-Lived to take his rightful spot as heir." added Macnair.

"And if he needed some help with the affairs in the next five years." Nott spoke up for the first time.

"He wouldn't want his heir to be such a public disgrace." Selwyn chimed in. "Not after the Potters have done everything since the Dark Lady's downfall to stay the darlings of the wizarding world."

"I think our odds are pretty good." Macnair sneered at Harry. "You'll be thrown out of the family, Potter. By the time your ass gets the fuck out of Azkaban, you'll have nothing. No wand, no money, no-name. At best, you'll have to leave England." he smirked cruelly. "At worst, well, it would be such a shame if someone or something took advantage of just how helpless you were."

Harry couldn't even speak, he was just too shocked, too afraid. This couldn't be happening!

"Well," Malfoy said, sounding all business, "it was a pleasure dancing with you, Potter, but you should have stuck to your station and realized who your betters were."

The four boys' laughter could be heard ringing throughout the corridor as they left Harry, helpless, bound, and terrified.

* * *

**Author's Endnote: **

**Quick note here since it's come up a few times in the reviews and this is the absolute last time I will speak on this, since I have already done so before. I cannot write an eleven year old to save my life. I have made this blatantly obvious in at least one AN already, but I will reiterate the point. This is not me trying to write realistic dialogue and thought processes for an eleven year old, though I will show mental progression as they grow older. I do not spend enough time around eleven year olds to write one accurately, and I haven't since I was eight or nine, seeing as I always hung around with older kids. Also, if I were to write them accurately in regards to their age, I would greatly limit what I could do in terms of events, and that would be no fun. **

**On a brighter note, I can confirm that there will be NO delay between years 1 and 2! The final chapter of year 1 will go up on Saturday June 6th, and the first chapter of year 2 will be posted under this same story the very next Saturday, June 13th.**

**I know that this was a rather cruel cliffhanger on my part, but I must confess, they are quite fun. Things may not play out the way you anticipate but trust me, they will only get worse before they get better…**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: Year 1's Penultimate chapter will be posted next Saturday, May 31st 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	17. TFA Ch 16: The Dragon's Wrath Part II

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my incredible betas Umar, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their work on this story**

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile and for . I had to write it in that format for the site to allow it on my profile.**

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**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.**

**Chapter 16: The Dragon's Wrath Part II (It Gets Worse)**

* * *

**May 8th 1992.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**

**11:47 PM.**

Draco waited and waited alongside Daniel, Andrew and Theodore for Charlus Potter and his group of morons to hand deliver them the dragon. As midnight approached, Draco started to get twitchy. According to the letter he had nicked from Weasley's hospital bed after he must have been bit by the bloody creature, the dragon was supposed to be moved _now_. Part of him, the Slytherin part, he suspected, thought that this would be the most elaborate, but most perfect setup ever if the lions had staged Weasley ending up in the hospital wing just to assure that their true plan went undiscovered. The less paranoid, more rational side of Draco knew, however, that none of that lot was that clever. Granger was an academic brainiac for certain, but Draco wouldn't classify her as clever or cunning, per se.

Then he saw it, a single figure, wrapped in a black cloak, making his way carefully around the corner while holding a large, blank crate.

Before Draco could muse on the fact that there was only one figure, there was movement from beside him. The figure never even saw Daniel's bludgeoning hex coming, and before the crate could hit the ground and infuriate the creature within, Macnair caught it with a levitation charm. Quickly and quietly, all four Slytherins converged on the fallen figure.

"Bet you didn't expect us, did you Po-" Draco's sentence caught in his throat. It was not a pair of deep, warm, hazel eyes staring up at him. Instead, it was a set of intense, emerald green ones that were filled entirely with pure, unadulterated hatred.

* * *

**The Previous Night.**

**An Abandoned Classroom. **

**8:13 PM.**

In the minutes that passed following Malfoy and his goons' exit from the classroom, Harry's mental state was in a constant flux between terrified and homicidal. If he could just break out of these stupid bindings — oh, what he would do to Malfoy! But if he didn't… would he really go to Azkaban? Would his Father really disinherit him?

'Think, Potter, think!'

But he couldn't. There was too much emotion clouding his logical thought process, and even his memory could not break through the haze of fury and panic. Unbidden, so many long passed memories fluttered to the surface of his mind's eye like a flock of persistent birds, their wings beating ruthlessly against the edges of Harry's mind's eye. Too many memories of being helpless, trapped and afraid.

Unless…

'Emotion… suppress… clear… clearing of the mind!'

Harry had never tried to actually clear his mind as thus far, he had only performed the preparatory meditation exercises. That was not even accounting for the fact that if he tried it, he would have to do so while trying to think cognitively at the same time as being in a high pressure situation. But then again, he had never successfully cast the Protego shield before the troll had bore down on him all those months ago. Remembering the instructions in his guide to the mind arts he had received from Charlotte, Harry did his best to follow them.

The phrase "clearing the mind" was, according to the book, misleading. It was impossible to just "clear your mind." Instead, what the book suggested was to think up an image, preferably one with little to no detail but one that could be recalled at a split second's notice. Harry's memory made this process rather trivial, but he had his image nonetheless. From there, one had to allow that image to consume not just their mind's eye but their entire mind as well. If one could manage it, wrap their magic around the image. If not, they would simply have to allow the thoughts crashing through their minds to pass, which would be far easier in this state of mind. If they had exceptional control over their magic, however, one could use that to reinforce the image and by extension, their mind.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, centering breath as he called up the image of the underside of a very familiar set of stairs in Surrey. He managed to hold the state for about thirty seconds. He tried again — a minute. Again — a minute and a half. Several tries later, Harry had managed to hold the state for what felt like five minutes and by now, he was ready to try and think controlled, measured thoughts at the same time. Usually, the clearing of one's mind was practiced as a singular skill for some time before controlling and moderating one's thoughts were brought into the equation, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

If the first step had taken him an agonizingly long time, this took ages. The light was no longer filtering in the window by the time Harry had managed any degree of success but slowly, ever so slowly, he was doing it.

Eventually, he managed to think with no emotions in the way and he could dedicate the entirety of his mind to this one problem.

Once he managed that, it took a surprisingly short amount of time for him to come to a solution.

Frankly, Harry had managed feats of magic without a wand before, but he was not even remotely delusional enough to think he could break the ropes with wandless magic. That form of magic was something he had very briefly read on in a more advanced version of _Magical Theory. _It turned out the skill was extremely rare, but Harry had always been quite adept at it.

His wrists were bound too tightly to activate his holster, but he didn't need it. With a thought, his wand snapped into his palm. His wandless arsenal was extremely limited, hence why breaking the ropes had not been an option. Summoning, locking, unlocking, warming himself, lighting a light bulb and maybe repairing things, but fortunately, he only needed to summon his wand, once he did, it was all academic.

"FINITE INCANTATEM!"

The ropes fell away and Harry let out a gasp of relief. Beyond the panic that accompanied the threat of Azkaban and the possibility of being disinherited, there was nothing in the world that Harry hated more than being confined, vulnerable and helpless. His body shook with relief for several minutes, and Harry had to actively clear his mind once more to prevent tears of relief from streaming down his face.

When he finally had a handle on himself, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the piece of parchment linked to his brother's.

_I know it's late, but we need to talk now!_

_Take the cloak and meet me by the tree line of the forbidden forest as soon as possible._

* * *

**The Present.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**

"Potter?" Draco heard himself ask in absolute awe. "How the hell did you get out?"

Andrew and Theodore looked equally shocked but luckily for the four of them, Daniel maintained his composure.

"It doesn't matter; this only makes it easier for us. We don't have to get him and we've got him at the scene of the crime. Let's take him to Snape." he turned to Harry, quickly resting his wand away from him and binding his hands behind his back with conjured ropes. "So, how'd you get out, Potter? And what are you doing here?"

"How I got out is none of your concern, Selwyn!" Harry bit back harshly. "I'm here because I convinced my brother to let me take the dragon. I didn't trust my fate in the hands of Gryffindors, thank you very much!"

It was almost true.

* * *

**The Previous Night.**

**The Grounds of Hogwarts.**

**11:44 PM.**

Harry could have sighed aloud in relief as Charlus threw the cloak off of himself and looked at his brother. "What the hell did you-" but he paused. Harry had healed the cut he had made on his own lip using the Episkey charm that Calypso had taught him, but quite a bit of blood had spilled onto his robes and he was a bit pale. On top of that, his eyes, which were normally restrained, were glowing like the flaming pits of hell in the vivid darkness.

"Shut up and listen!" Harry hissed to Charlus and for once, his twin listened without a second thought. "Malfoy knows exactly what you're doing tomorrow and he's planning to intercept the dragon, have an older friend of his put memory charms on you lot, and frame me for dragon smuggling; which would not only land me in Azkaban for five years, but would get me disinherited from the Potter family."

Charlus's face was slack with shock. "How do you know all this?" he asked, clearly dumbstruck.

"Because him, Nott and a couple older Slytherins just tied me up in a room, hit me with a few curses and Malfoy ran his mouth about his entire plan." Harry scowled, taking on the distinct look of somebody who was about to say something that physically pained them. "It's not a bad plan."

"We're done for." Charlus whispered. "It's too late to get Charlie to back out now. The plan was to sneak the dragon up to the top of the Astronomy Tower under the cloak so Ron's older brother who works with dragons could send a few of his mates to pick it up." Charlus shook his head, clearly distraught. "He's in Romania! He'll never get the letter in time; we're finished!"

"No," said Harry with fiery determination that Charlus had never seen in his brother, "you're not."

"How?"

"Because you're going to let me come tomorrow night, and you're going to do this my way!"

* * *

**The Present.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. **

Macnair snorted. "And how did that work out for you, Potter?"

"Not quite as well as I'd hoped." Harry answered dryly as he was hauled to his feet and led back the way he had come. Malfoy's constant string of taunts did not waver as they neared the dungeons and Snape's office. Harry's heart quickened by the moment. The fear of Azkaban and of being disinherited had returned now. What if he had bit off more than he could chew? What if this plan really did backfire? He clamped down on that thought hard. He couldn't doubt himself; he had to believe in his plan.

The dragon crate was being levitated by Macnair and there was no sound from within the crate itself.

By the time Malfoy knocked pompously on Snape's door, it was past midnight, and Harry's heart was about ready to leap into his throat.

It took a few rounds of knocks but eventually, Snape threw the door open, a look of contorted fury twisting his features as he glared out at them. "What is the-" but then his eyes took in the scene. Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn floating a mysterious crate and clearly marshalling a terrified looking Harry Potter. "Selwyn!" Snape snapped at the prefect. "What is the meaning of all of this?"

"It's Potter, sir." Selwyn said smoothly. "Draco here got wind of Potter's plan to help the oaf, Hagrid, sneak a dragon off the grounds. Apparently, Hagrid has been raising the thing and needed to get rid of it."

For a second, Harry thought he saw something flash in Snape's eyes that made him even more wary… disbelief.

"Is this true, Potter?"

"Y-y-yes sir." Harry lied, praying to any deity that may or may not exist that Snape took his word.

He did.

"All of you, inside." he said, stepping to the side. "I need to call the aurors." His lip curled. "One of whom, coincidentally, Potter, just happens to be your father."

"Professor," Malfoy simpered, "could you call my father in as well? He's on the board of governors, you see? I'm sure he would love to see this first hand, and I'm sure he would be very appreciative for your help."

"Very well." Snape agreed curtly, rushing into his private quarters with an unreadable expression to floo call Lord Malfoy and the aurors.

"I don't know how you got out, Potter," Malfoy whispered gleefully, "but it's over now! You're going to Azkaban and then it's game over!" Harry's only thought was that he had to keep them talking.

"My father won't send me to Azkaban."

"He won't have a choice with mine here." Draco drawled importantly. "Your father's an idiot, Potter. Mine will have him trapped in a corner faster than you can even say Azkaban." he smirked at the horrified expression on Harry's face. He was clearly loving every single second of this. "I thought there was hope for you, you know?" he continued. "But now I see I was wrong. You're as Gryffindorishly stupid as your brother. You picked the wrong enemy and even when you managed to luck your way out of the trap from earlier, you still didn't have the brains to go to a teacher. No, big heroic Harry Potter was coming to save the day! What's the matter, Potter? Were you sick of living in your brother's shadow? Did you think doing something so stupidly heroic would change that?"

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sudden whoosh of the fire and a moment later, three Aurors stepped into the room. Harry recognized one of them as his father. The other two both trained their wands on Harry at once. One was a tall, black skinned man with an impressive physique and who wore the same badge as his father that identified him as a Senior Auror. The other was a standard auror by the look of it. He had short cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes.

"Harry," asked James painfully, "what the hell's going on?"

"Stand down, James." the dark skinned man said in a deep, baritone voice. "No interrogations until the evidence has been gathered."

The other auror scoffed. "Come off it, Kingsley. We have the word of three Heirs of Ancient and Most Noble Houses and a Hogwarts Professor. Do we even need any more evidence?"

"I don't trust the word of children here!" James hissed, his voice quiet but deadly. "And the word of Snivellus counts for even-"

"I hope you don't mean to imply that my son is untrustworthy, Senior Auror." said a smooth, calm drawl from behind them. Snape had re-entered the room but he was not alone. A tall man joined him, one with the same platinum blonde hair as Draco as well as the same cold grey eyes. Harry recognized the man and his cane from the Samhain gathering at Weitts manor.

Lucius Malfoy.

"And if I am?"

"Then I will happily sue you upon the proof of my son's accusations."

"Your son is a-"

"Can we get this over with?" Snape asked with obvious annoyance, levelling a borderline murderous glare on James. "I would quite like to get to bed and I dare say I will have to write up expulsion papers."

"Do we not need the Headmaster?" the man named Kingsley asked.

"No," Lucius said promptly, "I am present as a representative of the board of governors and Severus is the boy's head of house. We will proceed now." There was an evil glint in Lucius's eyes and as much as Harry hated Draco in this moment, he feared Lucius far more. There was so much cunning, so much danger in those pale grey eyes.

"Very well," Kingsley said, "John, James, cover the crate while I open it, will you? I'm not sure what breed we're dealing with here, so the thing might be quick. It's young, so three stunners should take it down."

"I will help." Lucius declared, sliding his wand smoothly from his sleeve and taking aim.

Harry's heart was in his throat. Any second now, the game was up.

"On my count; Kingsley, you unlock on one!" James said, looking as if he would be violently ill as his eyes flickered back and forth between the crate and Harry. Harry could only think that however terrible James was feeling right now, he was feeling a hundred times worse

"Three, two, one!"

"Alohomora!"

The crate sprung open and before the aurors and Lord Malfoy could even get their stunners off, the room fell completely silent.

There, in the crate was no dragon. As a matter of fact, there was nothing in the crate at all. It was completely, undoubtedly empty.

Macnair's next words summed up everyone's feelings in the room except for Harry's.

"What the fuck?!"

* * *

**The Previous Night.**

**The Grounds of Hogwarts.**

**11:47 PM.**

Charlus blinked. "Didn't you want nothing to do with this?"

"Yes, and I still don't."

"What? But you just-"

"I want no part of it the way you've planned it out and I would be as far away from this thing as possible. But Malfoy and his group of lackeys took that option away from me and made it personal." Harry then dawned a smirk that was far too evil for any eleven year old boy to wear. "Now, I'm going to make him pay for it."

"How?"

"You, Weasley and Granger will take the dragon as planned, but you'll do so on broomsticks. You can bring the cloak or not, the important thing is, Malfoy, his goons and maybe any teachers he tips off will be waiting in the castle. If you avoid the castle itself, you'll have zero problems."

Charlus gaped at him. "That's… uh, actually really clever."

"No need for the tone of surprise, little brother."

"Don't call me that!"

"Sure thing, Charlie."

Charlus scowled. "You're impossible!"

"Yet you came running back to me."

"Oh… shut up! That's a good plan, but what does it have to do with Malfoy?"

Harry's grin turned feral once more. "Ah, excellent question, Charlus. You see, that's where I come in. When you and your friends are bringing the real dragon up to the tower unopposed, I will be freely walking into Draco's trap."

"What-"

"With a decoy crate that is completely empty."

Charlus's jaw fell open. "Harry," he breathed, "you do realize what that'll mean, don't you?"

"Yup." Harry said almost cheerfully, popping the P as he did so."Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair will all be caught for levelling false accusations at the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House. Father will probably blast it out to the media in an effort to get at Lucius Malfoy, and he'll probably sue the lot of them for a heap of galleons each."

Now, it was Charlus's turn to grin. "That's evil." he commended. "Brilliant, but evil!" He screwed up his face, clearly about to say something unpleasant. "I never thought I would say this and if anyone asks, I will deny it until the day I die, but I like the way you Snakes think sometimes!"

* * *

**May 9th 1992.**

**The Great Hall.**

**8:14 AM.**

_**Lord James Charlus Potter Accuses Three Heirs of Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Slander and False Accusations; Plans To Sue Each Family This Summer and More!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter.**_

"How delightful." Harry commented on the headline that greeted him as he slid into a seat beside Blaise and across from Daphne the morning after the dragon fiasco. It was the latest he had ever woken up at Hogwarts, but seeing as he had not even returned to the dormitory until after 2:00 AM, it was not all that surprising. All four of his friends' attention snapped to him immediately.

"Where the hell have you been?" raged Daphne. "We haven't seen you for almost two days and we've been worried sick!"

"Speak for yourself, Greengrass." Blaise said languidly as he sipped his tea. "I, for one, had full and complete confidence in Harry."

Daphne's icy glare was enough to shut up even Blaise. "Yes, because you nervously pointing out the way Malfoy kept smirking at us was the perfect image of confidence, Zabini!" she snapped her head towards Harry so fast her hair flipped over her opposite shoulder. "Well?"

Harry hesitated, making sure nobody was in ear shot before he spoke. "The Den tonight, after curfew."

Daphne looked livid but nodded her head anyways.

"Well, I'm blissfully clueless and all that," Blaise said cheerfully as he gestured towards the article in the prophet, "but beautifully done, my friend, beautifully done."

Harry could not suppress his grin. "I'm sure I don't have any idea what you're referring to, Zabini?"

"Ah yes, how foolish of me to assume you would." Blaise added with a smirk of his own, sliding Daphne's prophet under Harry's nose.

Curious as to how the prophet would spin it, Harry began to read.

_**Over the past number of hours, a shocking tale has come to light involving four Heirs to some of the most prominent houses of Magical Britain. This morning, I had the rare pleasure of speaking to one Lord James Charlus Potter; father of Charlus Potter Jr, The-Boy-Who-Lived, as well as one of the Senior Aurors employed by the DMLE.**_

_**According to Lord Potter, he along with two other colleagues were summoned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry late last night to investigate the actions of one Harry James Potter, Lord Potter's elder son and Heir. According to Lord Potter, his son had been dragged into a teacher's office by the Heirs to Houses Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn. The four Heirs allegedly accused Heir Potter of smuggling a live dragon out of the castle.**_

_**Upon further investigation, it was proven that Heir Potter did no such thing at all and Lord Potter was justifiably furious at the slander of his eldest son.**_

"_**Trust Lucius Malfoy to come up with something like this," he told me, "I doubt the kids had much to do with it. It was probably just Malfoy's attempt to sabotage me, my career and my family, but fortunately, it went wrong." **_

_**Lord Potter announced this morning that he will be formally pressing charges against the Malfoy, Macnair, Nott and Selwyn families respectively this summer, but would not give any more details on this scandal.**_

_**This calls into question not only the morality of the heads of house Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair, but also the future of our society. If four children destined to take the helm of powerful, influential families are committing such heinous crimes before they have even taken, or in the case of Heirs Malfoy and Nott, thought of their O.W.L exams, what does that say for the future of our society? Lord Malfoy was acquitted of any ties to The Dark Lady over ten years ago now, but is it at all possible he is raising his son to harbour any of her philosophies?**_

_**For an in-depth look at Lord Malfoy's legal past, turn to page 4. **_

_**For information on the equally murky pasts of Lords Nott, Macnair and Selwyn, see pages 5, 6 and 7 respectively.**_

"She doesn't pull any punches, does she?" Harry asked with some satisfaction once he'd finished.

Blaise laughed. "Not Skeeter. That woman is a harpy, but useful when she's on your side." he frowned. "Honestly, I'm not sure she's ever been on your father's side before, but I suppose when she can get a title like that out of it..." he let the thought trail off.

Just then, Malfoy sauntered into The Great Hall alongside Crabbe and Goyle. To Harry's great amusement, he did not take his customary seat with Macnair and his friends. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and Malfoy dipped his head in a subtle yet distinctive gesture.

Surrender.

* * *

**May 9th 1992.**

**The Speaker's Den.**

**10:39 PM.**

"So you mean to tell me that your brother smuggled a dragon out of the castle without a hitch while you perfectly framed Selwyn, Macnair, Nott and Malfoy, ruining the latter's reputation in the process?" Blaise asked in awe.

"Pretty much." Harry said upon the conclusion of the tale involving the dragon.

"That was beyond reckless!" Daphne scolded. "What would have happened if Selwyn or Macnair just opened the crate before they got to Snape's office?"

"They weren't going to." Harry said with disgust. "They were too busy gloating."

"But what if-"

"Drop it, Greengrass." Blaise drawled lazily. "It's over and it worked to perfection, so let it go." Daphne glared at him, but with visible reluctance, she did indeed let it go.

"Well, not quite perfectly." Harry sighed. "I've got a detention some time coming up. Snape said he'd inform me when it got closer."

"How did you get in trouble?" Tracey asked bemusedly.

"I blatantly broke curfew by almost two hours." Harry deadpanned. "The reasoning may have been justified, but that didn't stop the bat from putting me in detention anyway." he sighed. "He didn't take points though. Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn have detentions with him until at least the end of the year. After that he said he'd be re-evaluating." he drew air quotes around the 're-evaluating' bit.

"Worth it." Daphne noted savagely. "I just hope the little brat doesn't try something again."

"I don't think he will," Harry said quietly, remembering the way that Malfoy had ducked his head at the table earlier that same day, "I really don't think he will."

* * *

**Meanwhile, In The Slytherin Dormitories.**

In the privacy of his bed with the curtains drawn, Draco read over the letter he had received that morning from his father for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He still had absolutely no idea how to feel about it.

_Draco,_

_I will tell you this once and once only; there will be no more antagonizing the Potter Heir. Like it or not, the half-blood has proven to be a dangerous opponent for you; one that you have proven yourself incapable of handling, at least for now. _

_I do not care what your relationship looks like with him from here on out, but do not dare risk another shred of our family's reputation by antagonizing him further. _

_We will speak more on this in the summer._

_Enjoy the remainder of your school year,_

_Your Father._

* * *

**May 10th 1992.**

**12:16 AM.**

_Harry:_

_So you and your friends got the dragon to Weasley's brother without any issues last night?_

_Charlus:_

_Yup. I'm guessing your plan went well too, based on the Prophet?_

_Harry:_

_Swimmingly._

_Charlus:_

_Good to hear; no trouble or anything?_

_Harry: _

_I have a detention coming up, but nothing beyond that, no._

_Charlus:_

_Well that's stupid, but worth it to take Malfoy down a peg or two._

_Harry: _

_Some sacrifices unfortunately have to be made._

* * *

**May 26th 1992.**

**The Entrance Hall. **

**8:00 PM.**

Harry, as he had been told to do, made himself present promptly and punctually at 8:00 on the designated night of his detention. His face twisted into a subtle scowl when he saw the figure of Argus Filch looming nearby and though he masked it, he would have scowled far more harshly as Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn quickly joined them in the hall.

"What's he doing here?" Macnair snarled, glaring hatefully at Harry.

"You're all in trouble for the same thing, aren't you?" Filch asked snidely. "Makes sense you get the same punishment, doesn't it?"

Macnair scowled. "You're not one to talk about sense, squib. You shouldn't even be at this school!"

Filch glared hatefully back at Macnair. "Oh, trust me, boy, if I could leave, I'd have got the hell out of here years ago!" Harry noted how odd that wording was, but honestly, he didn't care enough about the Caretaker to do more than take note of it. "Now, hurry up, let's go!" Holding a lantern in front of him, Filch led them not towards a Professor's classroom or the Trophy Room, or any such normal destination for a standard Hogwarts detention. Instead, Filch led them straight towards the doors leading out onto the grounds, and it was not until they had stepped outside did Malfoy speak for the first time.

"Where are you taking us?"

For the first time, Filch allowed a twisted smile to grace his wrinkled lips. "The Forest is where you're going tonight." he said happily. "If I had my way, you'd be strung up in the dungeons by your wrists and ankles, but this'll do alright too, eh?"

"But-but there are supposed to be werewolves in there!" Malfoy protested, suddenly sounding nothing like the pureblood Heir he was supposed to be as they drew nearer and nearer to Hagrid's hut and the border of the Forbidden Forest.

Filch's malevolent smile only widened. "Should've thought of that before you broke the rules, shouldn't you?"

"Is tha' you Filch?" boomed a thundering, familiar voice from out of the darkness up ahead and suddenly, Harry wasn't sure if he felt more or less worried as the gigantic form of Hagrid came into sight, scowling at Filch. "Been terrorizin' 'em, have ya? Well, that's not yeh're job ya awful old prune. I'll take 'em from here."

Filch scowled. "You shouldn't be too nice to them, Hagrid." Filch admonished. "They're in detention after-"

"Ya ya, and ya probably want to string 'em up by their wrists and ankles, don't ya? Or maybe break out the old screws and thumb tacks?" he shook his great bushy head in disgust. "I told ya I'll take 'em from here. Get lost." Filch scowled again but reluctantly turned on his heel and began to shuffle his way back up towards the castle.

"I'm not going in that forest!" Malfoy said as soon as Filch was out of earshot. "This is ridiculous! This is servant's work! We should be writing lines or-

Hagrid snorted. "Yeh'll do what yeh're told if you wan' to stay at Hogwarts. Writin' lines? And what good'll that do, eh? Nah, yeh'll do some'in useful or yeh'll go and pack yeh're trunk. If ya think yeh're father'd rather ya were expelled, be me guest, yeh're free to go."

Malfoy didn't move.

"Righ' then." Hagrid said with noticeable satisfaction, "what ya's will be doin' tonight is helpin' me track down a unicorn tha's been hurt by some'in in the forest. Found one dead in their las' Wednesday and there's blood spattered all over, see?" he pointed to the outskirts of the forest. There was indeed faint trails of a silvery substance that Harry assumed was unicorn blood spattered across the grass. "I reckon the thing's been stumblin' around in there for days." he suddenly looked sad. "I think we might have to put it out o' its misery." he looked at the five of them. "Right then, we're gonna split up into two teams. One team'll go with me, the other'll go with Fang." he patted the head of his great boar hound.

"I want Fang!" Malfoy said at once.

Hagrid snorted once more. "Suit yehrself, but he's a right coward." He looked over them again. "Right. Malfoy, Nott and," he paused for a fraction of a second too long, "Harry'll go with Fang. Macnair and Selwyn, you two are comin' with me."

Hagrid made them prove their competence with shooting up green and red sparks and then the two groups embarked on their separate journeys into the forest. Harry, Malfoy and Nott wandered aimlessly for ages. Covertly, Harry noticed Nott shooting him vengeful glares.

"If you try and curse me," Harry told him bluntly, "I'll make sure you end up at the feet of whatever's been killing unicorns." That stopped Nott cold. He did not stop glaring, but the glares carried far less intent from that point onward.

After what felt like hours, the three Slytherin first years noticed that the thin trail of silvery blood that they had been following this whole time began to thicken. Suddenly, they stepped into a patch of moonlight unobstructed by the canopy of leaves above their head and their breath caught as one.

In the clearing ahead, illuminated by the sudden unhindered flow of moonlight was a glowing silvery creature who was laying completely still. In its side was a large, painful looking gash and pooled around it was that same, silvery substance they had been following all night. In the moonlight, it seemed to sparkle mockingly as if it were some child's glitter. Harry thought the irony of such a contradiction of the truth was almost painful. He was not an emotional person by any means, but he found his very heart aching for the unicorn in front of him.

Then, all sentimentalities were wiped clean from his mind when a bush rustled and a hooded figure stepped out into the clearing.

"Ahhhh!" Malfoy screamed before booking it immediately. Before Harry could do so much as move, Nott had shoved him forward, hard, and sprinted off himself. Harry stumbled and just barely managed to stay upright before he looked up and gazed at the hooded figure. He was not able to tell anything of its identity from this vantage point. Then, before he could do so much as summon his wand to defend himself, his scar exploded in pure, unadulterated agony, and Harry fell to his knees as a gut wrenching scream was torn from his lungs.

Luckily, this pain lasted only seconds as vaguely, as if from far away, Harry heard what sounded like the pounding of too many legs and then, mercifully, it was over. Slowly and shakily, Harry raised his head and allowed his jaw to fall open at what stood in front of him. The creature was taller than any man not named Hagrid and had a young, regal face. It's lower half, however, was that of a well kept palomino.

"Harry Potter." the centaur said in a low, quiet voice. It was not a question.

"Y-y-yes, sir." Harry said as he shakily managed to climb to his feet. If he was less rattled, he may have wondered how the hell this creature knew who he was.

As if in answer to Harry's question, the centaur gazed absentmindedly towards the heavens before looking back towards Harry. "Mars is very bright tonight." it said conversationally. "As is Mercury, for that matter."

Harry had read something about centaurs using astronomy as a sort of divination, but he had no idea what that meant. He knew, of course, that Mars and Mercury were planets in The Milky Way. The only other connection he could make, and he assumed this was probably it, was that in Roman mythology, Mars was one of Rome's patron gods of war, and Mercury was the god of quite a few things; merchants, travellers, thieves...

"Uh… yeah." Harry answered. "What-what was that?"

The centaur appraised him. "Can you ride?" it asked instead of answering. "It will be quicker this way and the forest is not safe, least of all for you." Harry had no idea what the centaur meant by that statement, but he did not question it. Instead, he simply clambered onto the creature's back and allowed it to carry him through the forest. Once they were a safe distance away, the centaur endeavoured to answer Harry with a question of its own.

"Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"It has extremely powerful healing and restorative properties." Harry said without missing a beat.

"Do you know what would happen if one drank unicorn blood?"

Harry paused and thought for a moment. "Not exactly, no."

"Unicorn blood would save a witch or wizard's life even if they were on the brink of death." the centaur told him. "Or," it said, as an air of unmistakable significance crept its way into the creature's voice, "it would serve to strengthen one more effectively than any mere potion." it paused. "Do you see the flaw in this yet?"

"No." Harry answered attentively, feeling uncharacteristically clueless but enjoying the learning experience if nothing else.

"Magic centres around many things, Harry Potter." the centaur told him. "One that some of your kind is fixated quite powerfully on is intent. Another is fate. Another still," he said, his voice rising a touch in volume and significance still, "is balance. Magic does not just give infinitely. There are certain kinds of magics that require take, sacrifice."

"I'm guessing that unicorn blood falls into that category." Harry theorized quietly.

"It does indeed." the centaur affirmed. "It does, after all, seem too good to be true, doesn't it?" It did. "To live a life granted or extended by unicorn blood is to live a half life." the centaur said at long last. "A cursed life, if you will. You have harmed something so good and so pure, magic very rarely lets you do such a thing without great sacrifices in the future."

"But who would be that desperate?" Harry asked. He didn't think that the figure in the clearing had looked too badly off.

"Can you think of no one?" the centaur asked him darkly. "No one who would go to such lengths to regain the power they once wielded? No one who has bided their time for years? No one who may wish to meet Harry Potter alone in a clearing in the dead of night?"

And it clicked; Harry actually gasped — he never gasped.

"Voldemort." he breathed in little more than a whisper. The centaur nodded solemnly but then, something else clicked in Harry's mind. "Hang on; you said that Voldemort would want to meet me in a clearing? Why me? It's Charlus she should want."

The centaur did not answer until after they had encountered a number of other centaurs who were furious with Firenze, and then, minutes later, when the figures of Hagrid, Nott, Malfoy, Macnair and Selwyn came into focus. "You both have a role to play." were Firenze's parting words to Harry as he allowed him to slide off of his back and take his place among his companions.

* * *

**May 28th 1992.**

**The Library.**

**7:51 PM.**

By the time Harry was done recounting the story of the forest and Firenze's words to Charlus, his twin was gaping back at him like a fish out of water. Harry hadn't even told Blaise, Daphne or Tracey the bit about Voldemort, though they had heard an unfiltered version of everything else, hooded figure and all. Truthfully, Harry had no idea what Daphne's family's alliances were, and he was even less sure about Blaise's. Tracey would probably have been safe, but she couldn't keep a secret from Daphne if her life depended on it.

"She-she's back?" Charlus asked.

Harry frowned at the question. "I don't think she is." he answered carefully. "Not really, anyways. Firenze really made it sound like she needed that blood to survive. Maybe she's got herself a temporary body, or something?" he looked pointedly at Charlus. "It would explain why she's after the Stone."

"I guess," Charlus said, clearly worried, "but if she gets the Stone-"

"She won't," Harry said pointedly, "they say the only one she ever feared was Dumbledore. If that's even remotely true, I can't see her making a move under his nose." That was a lie, but Harry did not want Charlus rushing after the greatest dark sorceress in a thousand years due to a misguided sense of self-obligation.

Charlus frowned. "I guess." Harry could tell he wasn't convinced.

Harry sighed and leant forwards. "Charlus, I have never asked you for anything in my life; I am asking you now to promise me, whatever happens, you won't go rushing off after Voldemort."

"Harry, I can't-"

"Promise!"

Charlus hesitated. "I promise."

* * *

**June 4th 1992.**

**The Grounds of Hogwarts**

**3:30 PM.**

Harry would be lying if he did not admit a small amount of relief upon the conclusion of his final exam, History of Magic. He had stopped coming to the class back in September, having frequently used that period to either explore the Castle or practice magic. He had faith in his memory and the textbook, but it was still nerve wracking to take a test for a class he had barely attended.

In spite of that, he breezed through his History of Magic exam just as he had the rest. Astronomy was the one he was by far least sure of. He really hadn't put a whole lot of effort into the subject. He considered it abstract at best, useless at worst. He felt that Herbology had gone reasonably well, as had Potions. He had debated coming up with a showcase worthy of the O+ in the class but it just hadn't been feasible. He had spent so much time working on his idea for Defense that he just couldn't come up with something that Snape would grant him an O+ on.

Charms and Transfiguration were simple and he was certain he had the O+ in Transfiguration, and as near as he could be in Charms. He had lazily transfigured his mouse into a snuff box and then conjured water using Aguamenti. The feat actually had McGonagall gaping. It was a sixth year spell after all. It could technically be classed as a charm, but it was still a conjuration, and though it was naturally the easiest as it was considered a "natural conjuration" due to the fact humans were made up mainly of water, which, for some reason, made the spell easier to cast, it was still a conjuration at the end of the day.

For Charms, he had charmed his tea cup to tap dance, as asked, and then hit it with a cheering charm, a devilishly difficult third year charm that had taken him several hours of practice, before setting it to another routine.

The most stressful by far had been defense. When Harry had completed the exam, he had opened his mouth to ask for the chance at extra credit but Hurst hadn't even given him the option. "Well, Harry, what do you have for me now?"

He had to resist the impulse to gape. "Professor?"

"Come, Harry; with the amount of time we have spent together this year, I would be ashamed of myself if I did not know you at least a little bit." she smiled. "Both of us would be disappointed if you did not give the O+ performance a try. So, what do you have for me?"

Harry's visage became hard and determined. "Fire spells at me." he told her. "Low level to start please, and start slow. You can work your way up as you see fit."

Professor Hurst's eyebrows rose but she raised her wand. "On your command." Harry nodded.

"Dolor."

'Averto!'

Spell deflection had been as difficult as Professor Hurst had promised. He had practiced relentlessly in the dungeon classroom with Daphne, Tracey and Blaise over the past few months and only recently had he pulled it off at all.

At the last second, he swatted at the incoming spell with a quick, precise strike and sent it spiralling off to the right.

Professor Hurst's eyes gleamed as she raised her wand again. "Furnunculus."

Again, Harry thought of the incantation, intent, and nature of the oncoming spell intensely before he managed to bat it away.

This went on for a few more minutes, with Professor Hurst's spells increasing in power before finally, Harry fell to a full-body-bind.

"Full marks and then some." she told him with an open smile. When he looked surprised, she waved her hand. "There is no need for secrets, Harry. This is the last time we will see each other in such a formal setting, after all, and we both know you did what you needed and more to achieve the grade."

"What do you mean last time we'll be seeing each other in a formal setting, professor?"

Professor Hurst smiled. "The curse on the Defense Against The Dark Arts position is more than just a myth, Harry. I was not foolish enough to promise Professor Dumbledore any more than one year of service. I will be leaving Hogwarts at the conclusion of the school year." she smiled at him, waving her wand and causing something to float over to them. "I decided, however, that I would get you this." Professor Hurst handed him what appeared to be a blank book. "Enchant you this would be more accurate. It will supply you with endless pages and will turn to the desired page with a thought. When you write down an idea or concept, it will automatically link that concept with information you have written down before and try to help you come to a conclusion." Harry was actually gaping at her now as she smiled back at him. "You are a brilliant mind, Harry. I would not see such a mind go to waste. One day, I have every confidence that your thinking will change the world, and I would love to be a part of it."

That had been days ago.

Now, Harry simply laid back in front of the lake with Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Calypso, Cassius, Hestia and Flora as they all talked and joked. It was almost as though they were just normal muggle kids and there were no plots obviously going on around them…

Almost.

* * *

**June 4th 1992.**

**The Gryffindor Dormitory.**

**11:34 PM.**

Upon the effects of Hermione's full-body-bind curse wearing off, there were five long minutes where Neville was unsure of what to do. Then, he defaulted to the one thing, the one person he trusted more than any other in the castle. The question was, how to contact him? And then he had remembered Charlus telling Ron something about a piece of parchment the Headmaster had enchanted to allow him to communicate with Harry.

It took Neville half an hour to find it, buried at the bottom of Charlus's trunk but when he did, he scribbled one, simple, urgent message.

_Harry, it's Neville._

_Charlus, Ron and Hermione are gone from the common room. _

_I'm afraid they might be going to do something stupid; they were really jumpy when I tried to stop them._

_Thought you ought to know._

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I did say things would get worse, didn't I?**

**On a side note "thought you ought to know" was one of my favourite lines from the first book, but because of the changes made to Halloween, I never got to use it. I had to get it in somewhere right before everything went tits up :)**

**One more chapter to go for year 1 and you are all in for several more twists and turns than any of you bargained for, so buckle up and expect the unexpected!**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: Year 1's final chapter will be posted next Saturday, June 6th 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	18. TFA Ch 17: For The Greater Good

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

* * *

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my lovely betas Umar, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story. An additional shoutout to Discord member Luq707 for his additional edits on this chapter.**

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile and for . I had to write it in that format for the site to allow it on my profile. For those interested, the first few chapters of year 2 are already up on the Discord server!**

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**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

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**Author's Note:**

**Well — this one might break the Internet. I would be lying if I said I wasn't extremely nervous about this one. No more setup, no more filler, the climax of year 1 is upon us! Apologies in advance for the cliffhanger at the end of this chapter; I only do it because I love you guys :)**

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.**

**Chapter 17: For The Greater Good.**

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**June 4th 1992.**

**The Slytherin Dormitoies.**

**11:52 PM.**

Harry stared down at his half of the enchanted set of parchments. He was in absolute awe of his brother's stupidity. His exterior was a mask of perfect calm but in reality, his thoughts were complete and utter turmoil.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!'

For the most part, he was sick with an emotion that he had rarely if ever felt before — worry.

As foreign as the thought had been to him at the start of the year, Harry genuinely did care for his brother and would much rather he did not get murdered by Voldemort or whomever was doing her bidding. There was, too, a part of Harry that was burning with red hot fury. Charlus had promised him that he would not run off after Voldemort. He had promised that under no circumstances would that change.

Now, Harry had a serious dilemma on his hands. Should he go after his brother and risk his own death at the hands of the psychopathic Dark Lady that murdered his mother? Or should he stay behind in the dorms and risk that psychopathic Dark Lady getting her hands on a Stone that sounded like it would bring her back to the height of her power? In the end, it was Firenze's words that spurred him to scribble his reply to Neville on the parchment.

"_Can you think of no one?" the centaur asked him darkly. "No one who would go to such lengths to regain the power they once wielded? No one who has bided their time for years? No one who may wish to meet Harry Potter alone in a clearing in the dead of night?"_

From what Harry had read on the topic of divination, it seemed a flimsy branch of magic for certain, but something about Firenze… he couldn't put his finger on it, but the centaur most certainly had the air of someone who knew a lot more than they were letting on. The mention of how Voldemort would love to find him alone in a clearing was what did it.

If Voldemort had any intention of harming him, Harry was going to do his utmost best to strike while she was at her weakest. With that being said, his plan was not to confront whoever was working for her. His plan was to stop Charlus and his group of idiots before they got themselves killed and hope that other actions on his part would bring more qualified adults into the picture. Of course, he had a feeling that his plans would not play out like that, but he could try.

_Harry:_

_Neville, I'm going after him; I know where he's gone. _

_If you can, get Dumbledore and tell him that Charlus has gone after whoever is trying to steal the Stone. Don't ask questions, just do it._

_If you can't get Dumbledore, McGonagall will do. _

Harry put the parchment back in his bag and sat up, peering at Blaise's bed. He knew that the bed was warded, but he really needed his friend awake right about now. Cautiously, Harry tossed the quill towards Blaise's curtains. It hit them and nothing happened, but he had a feeling that would not remain the same if he himself touched them. Fortunately, he didn't have to, as a moment later, the curtains slid aside and Blaise leaned his head out of them. Clearly, he had not yet been asleep.

"What?" he asked, still somehow managing to sound bored.

"I need you to get Professor Hurst for me." he told Blaise. Normally, such an outlandish request would have prompted questions but evidently, Blaise could tell from Harry's tone that there was a method to his madness.

"Anything else?" he asked, suddenly alert.

"Yes," Harry said, struggling now to keep his voice calm, "if you can get into the girl's dorms and wake Daphne, Tracey or both; do it. Tell them to get Snape and give him the same instructions you're going to give Hurst."

"Which are?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Charlus Potter has gone after whoever he thinks is trying to steal the Stone tonight."

Blaise's eyes widened. "You're not?"

"I am."

"Harry, this is stupid. If he's right… this could be suicide."

"Blaise, I'm sorry. There are things you don't know, but the stakes are higher than you could ever imagine. Besides, I'm not planning on confronting whoever is trying to steal it. My plan is to stop my brother and hope teachers show up." he paused. "Ideally, I'll never even see whoever is after the Stone. Worst case scenario, I'll do my best to distract them until somebody else shows up." he closed his eyes, trying to keep both his interior and exterior as calm as possible. At the moment, it was a surprisingly Herculean task. "Right now, I just need you to do what I've asked." He hesitated. "And… tell Daphne and Tracey, will you? Just in case, tell them…" but he couldn't finish the sentence.

Blaise's mask didn't even crack as he nodded. "I understand." he said gravely. "Harry, be careful… please?"

"Always."

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**Ten Minutes Later.**

'This is stupid. You have no bloody idea how to get past a Cerberus! This is the stupidest thing you've ever done in your life!'

"Alohomora."

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Luckily for Harry, he didn't have to get past any such beast. The Cerberus was there alright, massive, three headed and terrifying. Fortunately for Harry, it was also motionless, unbreathing and unseeing — unmistakably dead. Privately, he thought that was far too convenient. Most any eleven year old boy may have exalted in the fact, but not Harry. He knew this could only mean one thing, at the very least, whoever was after the Stone had already been past this obstacle. He supposed that there was a chance that Charlus had not reached this point yet, but he doubted it. His brother had been gifted with a head-start, and Harry was sure that if Charlus hadn't made it past the dog, it would not be overly difficult to tell.

His perception of the dumbest thing he had ever done in his life changed again a second later when he realized he would have to throw himself into complete and utter darkness. With an internal sigh, Harry thought that at least he would be getting the opportunity to try out one of the second year charms that he had read up about this year.

After all, in the past, desperation had always served as an excellent motivator for Harry to perform magic he had previously thought himself incapable of. Between the Protego shield and the next stage of Occlumency, Harry was starting to think desperation had some sort of definitive effect on magic. After unsuccessfully attempting to see what he may be jumping into or at least how far the fall may be, Harry threw himself through the open trapdoor and immediately held his wand tighter.

"Arresto Momentum!"

His fall slowed drastically and before he knew it, he landed safely, if a bit roughly on something soft and squishy. He tried to filter through his expansive bank of memories in order to figure out what he may have landed on by comparing the feeling, but he came up empty.

"Lumos!"

As his wand lit, a horrible screech of pain filled the cavern as his wand light illuminated a rather terrifying plant Harry had never seen before.

'Oh, the irony.' he thought, flashing back to his first day in the greenhouses back in September.

"_Some of the lessons you participate in within the walls of these greenhouses in future years will be some of the most difficult and dangerous work you will do while at this school. What?" she asked knowingly, as several people smirked exasperatedly. Padma Patil let out a rather loud, rather derisive snort, and Crabbe and Goyle actually snickered. "You don't believe me, do you? Well then, can anyone here name me a plant that could potentially kill a witch or wizard?" _

_The class went dead silent._

_Harry's hand rose into the air, as did the Asian girl's from Ravenclaw — Su Li, as well as Daphne's._

"_Mr… Potter." indicated the professor, and though Harry did not falter, he also did not fail to notice that the professor's voice hitched a bit on his name. _

"_Devil's Snare." he answered simply, to which she nodded, prompting him to go on. "It is a plant with tentacle like vines that will strangle anything that touches it."_

_Patil was not laughing now and all of a sudden, Harry did not see any smiles on the faces dotted around the room._

"_Concise and correct, Mr. Potter. Take five points to Slytherin. Now, can anybody tell me how you would defend yourself against this plant?"_

_This time, the professor pointed out Daphne._

"_Light or fire." she answered easily. "Devil's Snare tends to prefer dark, damp climates, and is completely vulnerable to either option; though fire is the best way to actually kill the plant."_

As this memory flashed through his mind, Harry brandished his wand towards the plant itself. "Incendio!" he roared, and the screams grew louder as the plant quickly backed away from him, leaving his path free.

Harry scrambled up and out of the plant's way. He did not so much as break stride when he entered the next chamber until he saw the… somethings flying in the air.

At first, Harry thought they were some sort of odd magical creature that he had never seen before but upon a closer inspection, he realized that they were a number of keys. The possibility that they were charmed to attack him should he try and retrieve the correct one, which stood out rather obviously due to the fact that it's wings were absolutely battered, clearly having been used at least once tonight, was still a very real possibility.

Then, he saw the broomsticks. Hesitating, he took a few, cautious steps forward, waiting for something, anything to happen. Perhaps the keys would bare down on him with invisible talons? Perhaps some other guardian would appear. But nothing of the sort did, and before he knew it, Harry was standing on the other side of the room as he looked from the broomsticks in front of him to the keys far above.

Rather ominously, Harry thought about how easy this all seemed. Surely none of this could actually stop a grown witch or wizard?

Taking hold of one, Harry launched into the air and began to weave through the keys. This was brilliant! No restraints put on him by Madam Hooch, just free flying. Later, if he survived, Harry would have to question and internalize the fact that in this moment, even so close to what he knew could be his imminent death, he was having more fun than he had experienced in ages. It didn't last long, as in less than a minute, Harry had snagged the correct key and jammed it into the lock. He made to discard his broomstick but thought better of it. It could be useful.

In the very next chamber, it paid dividends when he saw the chess board laid out in front of him. He saw as well, to his great surprise, a bushy haired witch shaking from head to toe.

"Granger?" he asked, making her jump a foot in the air before whirling on him, fumbling for her wand.

It wasn't even a challenge.

Harry's wand snapped into his hand from his holster and before Granger could even fully draw her own, it was flying through the air towards Harry, who caught it easily.

For a split second, the girl looked furious, then panicked, and then realization dawned in her eyes when she realized who had disarmed her. "Potter?"

"Nope," Harry said with a roll of his eyes, "his long lost brother."

She scowled. "Give me back my wand!"

"Only when you've explained what the hell is going on! Charlus promised me he wouldn't do anything stupid." Then, his eyes narrowed. "Unless you and the idiot Weasley forced or convinced him?"

She flushed. "We would do no such thing!"

"Weasley would probably do it for the laughs. You probably wouldn't normally, but if you thought you were right, I bet you could justify it." Before she could start on a tirade, he levelled her with a glare that froze her in place. "Explain!"

"No! I've got to go get Professor McGonagall!"

'For fuck sake!'

He debated trying to explain to her that he already had somebody on that, but decided against it. After all, he very much doubted that Hermione Granger knew Occlumency.

Luckily for him, the events of the night were on her mind, so he merely had to push past her eyes and observe for several long seconds. When he looked away, she staggered. "What-"

"Go, now!" and he threw her back her wand and mounted his broom, kicking off from the ground and simply flying over the chess set and through the next chamber where he already knew the troll to be lying dead. He didn't even spare the fallen Weasley a glance, nor did he look back at the still frozen, still baffled form of Hermione Granger as he discarded his broom before entering the final chamber Granger had seen. When he entered said room he took the correct vial without hesitating, which had refilled itself, and downed it. With one last, final breath, Harry walked through the flames into the unknown.

Holding that breath in an effort to maintain his invisibility, Harry did a quick scan of the room which took only seconds. A terribly familiar mirror, a figure standing in the shadows, and another on the ground, bound in ropes. Without a thought, Harry's wand aimed at the standing figure's throat. He had planned to distract the figure, but he had such a perfect opportunity to end it now and honestly, all plans had sort of gone out the window when he saw his brother bound in ropes.

"Diffindo!"

Unfortunately, though the figure did seem extremely surprised, they were just as fast. They whirled and seemingly without effort, they batted Harry's spell away. Harry lost the advantage of invisibility a second later when he glimpsed the woman's face and let out a gasp as his eyes bulged, his jaw fell open, and his heart nearly stopped. "You?!"

"Me." Professor Hurst answered lazily, smiling fondly back down at Harry. "That was a well aimed spell," she told him, "you've done well this year, but you negated the advantage of your invisibility by shouting your spell for the gods to hear. If non verbal casting is beyond you, you should have at least whispered the spell. That isn't even taking into account your failure to use the ring to its full potential. You should have observed me from the other room using its auditory features. That way, you could have kept your surprise to yourself and maintained the advantage of invisibility in conjunction with the whispered incantation."

Harry wasn't sure what was more shocking to him; the fact that his mentor was stood in front of him, most likely helping the Dark Lady gain back her powers, or the fact that she was lecturing him on tactics when he had just tried to murder her.

Then, something else clicked. "You know about the ring?" then, his eyes widened again. "You! It was you who sent the ring?"

"Ah, I had wondered when you would piece together the identity of your not-so-secret admirer. Yes, I enchanted the ring and thought you could make some use of it. I confess, I never thought you would use it in an attempt to forestall my plans."

"But it can't be you." Harry breathed, still barely able to speak.

Professor Hurst merely raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And why can't it be me, Harry?" she asked him, sounding as if he had merely proposed an interesting theory in her class.

"You wouldn't help Voldemort." he told her. "You've been helping me all year. You saved me from the troll. You helped me that day I lost control of my magic. You taught me how to fight and you just told me that you enchanted me a priceless magical artifact."

"I'm disappointed in you, Harry." she told him exasperatedly. "Just because I did all of those kind things doesn't mean I can't support Lady Voldemort. What have I been preaching to you all year, granted, as covertly as I possibly could? There is no such thing as light and dark and good and evil, only power, and the intent with which it is wielded."

"But it doesn't make sense." Harry protested. "You've been helping me, but Voldemort would want to kill me."

Hurst blinked; she actually looked confused. "Why would Voldemort want to kill you?"

"I'm the Boy-Who-Lived's brother." Harry pointed out the obvious. "And in the forest… when I ran into her — at least, I think it was her, the centaurs told me-"

"Divination is such a fickle art, Harry." Professor Hurst said softly, an odd anger lacing her tone. "It can predict the rough outline of events for certain, but it tells nothing of their intricacies. It can speak of the pawns but says nothing of their motives." Hurst appraised him for several moments. "Lady Voldemort does not wish to kill you."

Harry gaped. "So… you have been helping her? How do you know that? Has she told you?"

Professor Hurst's lips curled up into a knowing smile. "You are very clever, Harry." she complimented him. "But you are missing the truth that is staring you right in the face, both literally and metaphorically — I am Lady Voldemort."

'Oh… fuck!'

"But that's-"

"Impossible? Implausible? Ridiculous? Yes, your brother thought so too." she gestured to Charlus, bound and gagged on the floor. "You see, Harry, your brother," she paused, "or you, I suppose, as I am not sure, did not truly defeat me ten and a half years ago, only vanquished me. Granted, I was weak, I was less than the meanest spirit, less than the average ghost, but I was still very much alive. My powers were all but gone, but I maintained a certain control over mind magics, which enabled me, in conjunction with my wraith form, to possess other creatures." her lips curved upwards in a bitter smile. "Snakes were my favourite, for obvious reasons, but they could not host my spirit for long; their bodies were too weak, their minds too frail. There was a long time, Harry, where I thought I may never get a body back." Her smile was more pleasant now, as if remembering a rather fond memory.

"That all changed when an American witch stumbled into my domain. How she came to be so far in the forests of Albania, I will never know, but there she was."

"So you… what, possessed her?" Harry asked, transfixed with equal bits horror and intrigue.

"Yes and no." she replied clinically, as if discussing something academic. "Another power I maintained was the ability to speak with snakes." she shrugged. "There were no shortage of venomous serpents to strike the stranger down for me. From there, I merely had to hitch a ride in her body."

"You've lost me again," Harry said, using every ounce of proficiency he had with Occlumency to maintain a clear and non panicked mind. He had to keep her talking.

"Why get the stone at all then? You have a body?"

"It is not that simple." she told him. "This body is not mine, not accustomed to my soul, nor compatible with my magic. Within the body of another, my magic is limited, terribly weak by comparison to what it would be in my own body. I do not, by example, have any ability with wandless magic in this body. In my own, I was perhaps the most proficient magic user in the world within the field.

"There are other problems, as well," she continued, "this body, as I have said, is unaccustomed to my soul. The months of carrying it have weakened this vessel greatly." she smiled at Harry. "You saw me hunting unicorn blood, Harry. Without it over the past number of months, this body would have already failed me. Now though," she told him, "now, I have no need for this body; not once I take the Philosopher's Stone from your brother's pocket." Harry wondered how the hell Charlus had wound up with the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, but he did not comment on the fact.

"It's been you then," Harry said as several pieces clicked into place, "you tried to kill Charlus at the Quidditch match?"

"You sound surprised?"

"You said you don't want to kill me, and you also said…" he paused as the thought registered with him for the first time, "you said me _or_ Charlus destroyed you ten and a half years ago?"

She smiled at him once more. "Ah, caught up, have you? Yes, I did indeed do my best to kill Charlus at that match. It would have worked too, if not for Severus muttering the counter curse under his breath."

"But I saw Sinistra-"

"The Imperius curse is a wonderful thing, Harry."

He paused as his mind blanked for a second. "The troll…" he breathed.

Voldemort frowned. "The what?"

"You let the troll in on Halloween or," his eyes widened, "you imperiused Higgs to let it in and go check the corridor for you. It didn't show up when Dumbledore tried using Priori Incantatem, but neither did The Killing Curse, so you clearly have a way around that." but a moment later, Harry was even more surprised than he had been upon coming to that realization as Voldemort was shaking her — no, Hurst's — no, the American witches head.

"I did not do that." she said, sounding completely genuine. "I have no idea who let the troll in on Halloween. I suspect your theory about Higgs, which, for your information, the Headmaster shares has some validity. I assure you, however, I did not place Terence Higgs under the Imperius curse, nor do I know who did it."

Harry supposed that it was just his luck that there was yet another mysterious murderous lunatic running around.

"How did you get around the reverse spell effect? I read about it after Charlus told me about the conversation he'd eavesdropped on. It seemed fairly fool proof."

Hurst shrugged. "Acquiring a second wand from a most unlucky wizard on the way back to Britain was not difficult."

"Wait, so you had the American witch's wand and the other wizard's? Aren't other's wands not supposed to work for you?"

"That is a broad and only partially correct statement. They will not work nearly as well as your own, but for a true master of magic, it does not stop them. I could likely project the Killing Curse through a wand that fought my magic tooth and nail based on my level of magical control. The wands are an irritant, but little more than that."

That was interesting, and mildly terrifying. "What was that bit about me or Charlus then? Everybody knows Charlus vanquished you."

"People know nothing." Voldemort said dismissively. "I cast the killing curse that night at you, Harry, not your brother." Harry's jaw fell open and Charlus's eyes bulged from his place on the floor. "Your brother tried to push you out of the way." she shrugged. "I have no idea which of you the curse struck, but truthfully, I do not care."

"You don't care?" Harry asked incredulously.

"A prophecy spoke of a boy with the power to vanquish me. Granted, I heard but a piece of the prophecy, but as far as I am concerned, it has been fulfilled. No, I need only kill Charlus Potter to prove that their beacon of hope was not enough." If Harry survived this ordeal, he would need to look into prophecies.

She fixed Harry with that intense stare. "You though, Harry, do not need to die. Your potential is near unlimited; I sensed it that night in Godric's Hollow and you have proven it to me throughout the entirety of this year. We are not so different, Harry. I understand you more than anybody you have ever met could ever understand you." her eyes were gleaming once more. "Join me, Harry. Keep what happens down here a secret, allow me to strike from the shadows and I will teach you the truth of all magics. With my tutelage, you will master all of its branches and intricacies. Together, we can topple Dumbledore and tear this polluted world down brick by brick only to build it anew. Stronger, greater, better in every way the brain can conceive." she met his gaze hungrily. "Tell me you do not want that, Harry? I can grant you anything."

Charlus was thrashing in his binds now, desperately trying to escape. Harry's wand hung limp at his side as he was completely and utterly frozen but Voldemort made no move to disarm or attack him. It all came down to this. Harry could join Voldemort and privately, he thought that there truly was a good chance that they could do exactly what she told him. This could be how he did it, how he overshadowed his brother and father — hell, even Dumbledore.

Two things gave him pause, however. In this new world, what place would people like Tracey have; half bloods from no name families? But Tracey was his friend… he would never support a world in which she would do anything but thrive. He was no fan of muggles, but he despised the concept of blood purity down to its roots. And Voldemort, for everything she had done for him this year was, at the core, still the woman who had started the downward spiral that had become Harry's life. He may not believe in good and evil, but there were certainly some principles that he absolutely believed in. After all, he had named his owl Nemesis for a reason.

"I want to," he told her softly, and Charlus thrashed even harder, "I want to outdo my brother and father more than anything else, but… you ruined my life, and frankly, we don't have the time for you to explain yourself." Before Voldemort could react, Harry's wand was aimed at Charlus.

"FINITE INCANTATEM!"

A second later, Harry had to dodge a jet of red light that he recognized as the stunner. Odd, how she was still not trying to kill him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Charlus scrambling furiously for his wand and knew that he had to hold off Voldemort until he got to it.

"You don't understand," she told him again, sounding more sad than upset, "we are alike, Harry. I understand your decision and I would have chosen the same at the age of eleven, but you need to listen to me. There is so much you don't understand. So much about me, so much about Dumbledore, so much about the worl-"

"Lacero!" he cried, trying the dark cutting curse his older friends had taught him for the first time. It worked, but Voldemort shielded easily, though she looked surprised.

"I am impressed, Harry. I certainly did not teach you that, but it hardly matters. I will explain everything later, but for now, I must end this little game of ours." And just like that, the kid gloves she had been wearing during their mock duels came off and Harry felt as if he was being attacked by not one woman, but a battalion of warriors that had him completely surrounded. Spells came from everywhere, none of them he knew. He dodged, shielded and deflected like a mad man but within seconds, he was dangling helplessly upside down with his wand clattering out of his hand in the same position she had forced him into the first day they had shared a defense classroom together.

She whipped around and took aim at Charlus.

"AVADA KE-"

Before she could finish the incantation, Charlus lunged forward, abandoning magic as a whole as he slammed into the taller woman's knees and sent her sprawling. Before she could retrieve her fallen wand, Charlus clambered on top of her and grabbed her by the throat. Before he could attempt strangling her, Hurst — or Voldemort — or whoever, let out a terrible, blood curdling scream as suddenly, the terrible stench of burnt flesh filled the chamber. Charlus paused for a moment as he too let out a cry of agony that Harry could not understand the origin of. He would have cursed his twin for the weakness had his scar not exploded in pure, unadulterated pain at that exact same moment.

Charlus was screaming too and Hurst was on top of him now. But then she started screaming and the pain in Harry's scar doubled as he, Charlus and Hurst all screamed in a terrible catcophony of pure agony and torture before finally, it became too much, and Harry gave into the darkness and felt or heard nothing at all.

* * *

**June 5th 1992.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**

**The Hospital Wing, **

**1:46 AM.**

Daphne sniffed once more as she sat in a chair beside Harry's bed, keeping a rather firm grip on his hand as she did so. Blaise and Tracey had stayed for quite some time, but they had decided to leave a few minutes earlier. They would be meeting in the Speaker's Den when Daphne was finished. Harry had graciously told them the odd password he had chosen. He had imposed two conditions. The Den was only to be used in emergency situations when they were one-hundred percent certain they would not be seen. And none of them were to attempt sitting in the throne-like chair. Neither of those conditions had seemed unreasonable, so Daphne, Blaise and Tracey had acquiesced without complaint.

At the moment, Daphne had eyes for only the boy lying prone in the bed at her side. She wasn't sure how she had grown so close to him over the year, but Harry felt like an extension of her family already. It physically pained Daphne to see him like this and now that she was alone, she allowed the tears to fall freely and quietly from her eyes. She hated seeing those close to her hurt. It reminded her forcefully of the early days of her friendship with Tracey so many years earlier even though the two situations were so different. She was grateful that Madam Pomfrey had let her stay in the Hospital Wing, even if it had taken some convincing from the Headmaster.

Five or so minutes later, Daphne was snapped out of her quiet sobbing when a familiar voice spoke from nearby, though the tone of said voice was far softer than she had heard it before. "Ms. Greengrass, for the sake of both of us, please do your best to pull yourself together."

Daphne whirled around as best she could without jostling Harry since she still had a hold of his hand. With her free hand, she quickly tried to brush the tears from her eyes as she peered upon the stony visage of her Head of House. "P-Professor?"

Snape nodded curtly, withdrawing his wand and conjuring a chair beside hers before taking a seat in said chair heavily.

Silence stretched on between them for another five minutes before the Potions Master broke it. "You have all done very well tonight." he commended in an odd, hollow sort of voice.

Daphne looked at him again. His eyes too were fixed on Harry, but there was no discernable emotion within them.

"We didn't do much, Professor." Daphne told him bitterly.

"That, Ms. Greengrass, is precisely where yourself, Ms. Davis and Mr. Zabini succeeded."

Daphne peered confusedly at the man. "Professor?"

"Without the Headmaster's intervention, Ms. Greengrass, I fear your friend's and his twin's struggles would have been in vain. There were many ways you could have reacted to a realization as jarring as the one you were exposed to this evening. You could have simply ignored the plea from Mr. Potter, seeing it as a drastic and unfounded overreaction. Such a reaction would have been perfectly reasonable, but for reasons I hope for your sake I do not need to expand upon, the result of that course of action would have been… unpleasant." Daphne gulped at the mere thought as Snape pressed on.

"The second path you and your friends could have taken was the one most steeped in cliches and idiocy. You could have foolishly rushed after Mr. Potter in an attempt to save him. An attempt which, for your information, would have failed rather horribly." Daphne tried to suppress a wince. If she had gotten her way, that was the exact course of action they would have taken. Thank Merlin that Blaise had been so composed and resolute.

"The three of you chose the path most suited to the noble House of Salazar Slytherin. You analyzed the situation and understood that any other course would be foolish. By alerting those superior to yourselves, you prevented a great travesty tonight and for that, Ms. Greengrass, you have done Slytherin House proud."

Daphne bit her lip. "What about Harry, Professor?"

Snape closed his eyes and did not answer for several seconds. "Competent Potter rushed off in a manner that was self serving and foolish." he raised his hand to prevent any interruptions. "With that being said," he continued, suddenly sounding as if he had sucked on a rather sour lemon, "from what myself and the Headmaster have gathered, his display was nothing short of admirable. The approach was strategically flawed, but Mr. Potter is well on his way to perhaps rebuilding some of the reputation that our House has tarnished over the years, decades and centuries." Snape sighed and looked at Daphne. "It is very late, Ms. Greengrass, and I am no fool. I know perfectly well you will be up late into the night, uselessly theorizing about what may or may not have taken place. I recommend you do so promptly. Mr. Potter will remain here until tomorrow, at which point you may return."

"Professor?"

"Ms. Greengrass."

"Do you know what happened to him? Do you know why he is like this?"

Snape paused, seeming to hesitate before he answered very slowly. "I do not know why either of them have found themselves in the state they are in, but I can tell you two things on the matter. Firstly, neither of them were hit by any spell which had the effects of anything more than restraining its target. And secondly, both of them will recover with no lasting physical injuries."

Daphne stood shakily to her feet, noting how odd and out of character this had all been for her Head of House. "Good night, Professor, and thank you."

* * *

**Ten Minutes Later In The Speaker's Den.**

As she left the hospital wing, wiping a stray tear from her eye as she went, Daphne still felt rather sick to her stomach at the image of one of her best friends, pale, motionless and unmoving, lying face up in a hospital bed. What was more disturbing still was the fact that Madam Pomfrey knew nothing about what had happened, nor, apparently, did Snape. Daphne had managed to find Professor Snape in quick succession after Blaise had woken her in the middle of the night, and the man had contacted the Headmaster at once using an odd, silvery spell that she did not know. According to Professor Snape, no physical harm had been done to either Potter, but that made absolutely no sense.

When Daphne had finished filling Blaise and Tracey in on all of this, Blaise's brow was furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense." he answered through pursed lips.

Daphne sighed and rolled her eyes. "That is the exact point I just brought up, Zabini."

"I'm aware, I was simply adding to it. If there was no spell that hit him designed to do any damage, why is he completely out of it?"

"And why doesn't anybody know what did it?" Tracey added in a small, worried voice.

"You don't know of any magic that could do such a thing, Blaise?" Daphne asked.

Blaise shook his head sharply. "I know some questionable things, Daphne, but that's not one of them." Daphne nodded, accepting the statement. There was a long, tense pause before Blaise spoke carefully. "I know we made the right choice by going to the teachers," he began, "but I wonder… I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't let Harry go."

"You couldn't have stopped him." Daphne told him reasonably. "Don't dwell on it, Blaise. In the most polite way possible, if Harry wanted to get past you, he would have."

Blaise sighed languidly. "Yes, yes, I know he would have. It still feels odd, knowing that you made the right decision but not being happy with it." he hesitated. "I… was never raised with much of a moral compass." he admitted. "I know that strategically, we made the right decision, but was it the right call morally?" It seemed to Daphne as if Blaise was genuinely asking, but she had no good answer.

"I don't know, Blaise." she told him honestly. "I really don't know."

"This is all pointless!" Tracey exclaimed, drawing the attention of the other two. "What good is it to beat ourselves up over things that are done and that we can't change? We did what Harry asked us to do. We did what we thought was right and it worked. That's the end of it. Things happen for a reason. Life can be complicated, but things usually work out in the end. Let's forget about this, ok? I know we don't know Harry super well or anything, but I guarantee you that he wouldn't want us to be arguing over what should and shouldn't have been done."

On the surface, they were so different that sometimes, Daphne forgot how truly similar Harry and Tracey really were. But all three of them knew she was right. Daphne knew it even better than the other two. Her mind flashed back to a corridor months earlier where Harry had told her the events of the past could not be changed and he would not be going out of his way to seek revenge on those who had wronged him.

"Tracey's right." Daphne put in. "I doubt any of us are going to be able to sleep, but it's worth a shot."

Ten or so minutes later, once Daphne, Blaise and Tracey had all left The Den, there was a shimmer near the seemingly dead-end corridor, and a tall girl with dirty blonde hair flickered into existence.

"How interesting." Grace murmured, running her wand gently along the carving of the serpent as her bluish silver eyes studied the wall intently.

* * *

**June 8th 1992.**

**The Hospital Wing.**

**9:32 AM.**

Harry woke with a soft groan and quickly tensed when he realized he had no idea where he was. Immediately, he sat bolt upright, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his head as he fumbled for his wand.

"Easy." a familiar voice said from beside him, though it was cooler than Harry had heard it in some time.

He relaxed if only a bit. "Charlus… what's going on? Voldemort? The Stone? Where are we?"

"Harry, it's fine. Voldemort's gone and Flamel chose to have the Stone destroyed. It's over."

"Where are-"

"Hospital wing." Charlus said tiredly. "I only woke up an hour and a half ago. Professor Dumbledore just left about an hour ago; he told me everything that happened when he got there. He said he's gonna talk to you in his office later."

Harry relaxed, if only a bit. "She's not… you know, really gone though, is she?"

"Nope." Charlus said bitterly. "I destroyed her body, but not her. At least, that's what Professor Dumbledore told me."

Absentmindedly, Harry wondered how that worked. He thought once the body was destroyed, the soul should inevitably follow. He also did admittedly have to concede that he knew absolutely nothing on that front.

"What day is it?"

"June 8th." Charlus told him. "We've been out for a little over three days."

"But why-"

"I dunno why you were out." his voice was just a fraction too cold for Harry not to pick up on. "Professor Dumbledore told me I used a lot of magic destroying Voldemort's body, so my body was in shock or something."

"Probably intense magical exhaustion." Harry noted.

"Yeah," Charlus muttered, "that." there was an awkward moment of silence. "Harry?" Charlus asked tensely.

"Yes?"

"Down in the chamber, when Voldemort asked you to join her… you hesitated."

"No, I didn't-"

"Yes you did!" Charlus argued, his voice rising in volume as some heat flushed into his cheeks. "You even said you wanted to-"

"Merlin, you're dense." Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "I was trying to distract her, you idiot."

"I'm the idiot! You-"

"Yes, you are! You promised me, Charlus; you promised me that you wouldn't go after her. You told me under no circumstances-"

"Dumbledore was gone! We knew she'd make her-"

"UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES! What part of that don't you understand? Merlin, you're thick."

"But you said-"

"To distract her and buy us some time! Which I never would have had to do if not for you being an idiot and rushing after her like a bloody Gryffindor!"

"This bloody Gryffindor was the one who saved your arse and vanquished her again!"

"Only because this bloody Snake saved your arse first. If I didn't show up, she'd have killed you and got off with the Stone. I bet she had you bound in seconds."

"That's not-"

"You're a terrible liar, little brother."

"I'm a terrible liar? Says the one who's going on about distractions while he was tempted to go dark! What was that about outdoing me and dad?"

"Yes, I want to be better than the brother who treated me like a prat for the colour of my robes and the father who abandoned me. I fail to see what's wrong with any of that." he scowled. "And to go back to your earlier point, we don't even know if you vanquished her the first time. She said herself-"

"I think that secret has revealed itself now, Mr. Potter." said a vaguely familiar voice. Harry and Charlus, who was red faced and furious, turned to the doorway of the hospital wing. Standing there were two figures. The first was James who, surprisingly, didn't quite look right. He looked concerned for his sons, but it wasn't the dominant emotion on display. He was pale and looked almost sick and he wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. The other man in the doorway, the speaker, was Dumbledore and most uncharacteristically, there was no twinkle in the old man's eyes.

"Charlus… Harry." odd again, the awkward, nervous pause before James said Harry's name. "Are you two alright?"

"Fine." Charlus dismissed hotly as Harry nodded.

"If you are quite alright, Harry," Dumbledore cut in, "I think this an excellent time for the meeting I think the two of us must partake in. I have just concluded my meeting with your father and have already spoken at length with your brother. If we are quick about such things, we will finish in time for the Leaving Feast and there are… certain matters we must discuss."

"Yes sir." Harry answered curtly, standing immediately and once again ignoring the pain in his head. He just needed to get out of the room with Charlus, who was positively fuming and was seriously testing Harry's patience right about now. Dumbledore must have noticed, because without any more preamble, he gestured for Harry to follow him and swept straight out of the Hospital Wing.

Neither of them spoke until they came to a handsome stone gargoyle that Harry had passed numerous times this year during his explorations of the castle. "Lemon drop." Dumbledore said, and his voice was less jovial, more curt than Harry had ever heard it before. Harry didn't even have the energy to be surprised as he climbed the spiraling staircase behind the Headmaster and entered his office, taking the comfortable armchair across the desk from Dumbledore upon the man's prompt to do so.

For a moment, neither man spoke; then, Dumbledore broke the ice. "I suspect, seeing the state I found you in, that you are not in the mood for niceties so I shall try and be quaint. I am sure you have questions for me?"

"Yes." Harry answered without pause. "What happened? Charlus just told me he destroyed her body."

"That is the crux of it." Dumbledore told him. "To answer your question, Harry, I must take you back to Halloween 1981 and explain how it is that your brother survived the Killing Curse."

"Professor, it may not have been-"

"Charlus has told me what Lady Voldemort told you down in the chamber, Harry." Dumbledore said. "That is a most interesting turn of events but after what took place a number of days ago now, I think that we can doubtlessly assume now for certain that it was indeed Charlus who survived Voldemort's attack.

"You see, Harry, your mother died that night in an effort to save both you and your twin. Your mother stood tall and looked Lady Voldemort dead in the eye. She refused to step aside and allow Voldemort to strike the two of you down and that, I am certain, is what allowed Charlus to survive the curse. Though, in actuality, it would have done the same for you had you indeed taken the curse as Lady Voldemort seemed to have initially intended."

Harry was confused. "How would that make any difference, sir?"

"Because, Harry, there are certain magics outside the scope of that which we teach at this wonderful school. Two of those magics are love and sacrifice. Now, The Ministry of Magic would doubtlessly want me to hide the existence of both from you but in my estimation, you, perhaps even more than your brother, have the right to know.

"Sacrificial magic is some of the oldest magic in existence. It is limitless in its applications but its few principles are centred in balance. If one wishes to achieve a goal, they must sacrifice something equal to or greater than that goal."

"So my mother intentionally died to save us? Like… a ritual, or something?"

"Goodness no, my boy." Dumbledore told him and Harry frowned.

"But… sir, isn't all magic fuelled by and dependent upon intent?"

The old man's eyes twinkled. "You really are brilliant for your age, Harry. In most cases, you are indeed correct. In the case of that night, however, there was more at play. I spoke already of a second branch of magic, that being love. Love is a magic that is a mystery to even the greatest minds we have at our disposal. It is my belief that the love your mother had for the both of you served as the catalyst that night in the place of intent.

"When Lily Potter refused to step aside and refused to allow Voldemort to harm either one of her children, choosing instead to give her own life, that did it. Her sacrifice cast a protection over your brother that was so powerful that Lady Voldemort's curse could not touch him. Even now, ten and a half years later, her body was vaporized by mere contact with your brother. That, I believe, is how we can be certain that your brother is indeed the survivor, Harry. Lily gave her life and as great as it was, it was only one life. Sacrificial magic has its roots in balance, as I have said. She only sacrificed one life, therefore, she could only save one life."

Ringing silence ran through the office for over a minute before Harry pulled his racing thoughts and emotions under control enough to speak. "So… it definitely is Charlus then?"

"Yes Harry, it is most definitely Charlus."

Harry wasn't sure whether or not he should feel relieved or angry at that. It would have set him apart, it would have overshadowed all of them — put him above. But at the same time, if Dumbledore knew this now, Voldemort probably did too. Personally, he preferred not being at the top of her hit list.

"Voldemort definitely is gone then?" he asked, sticking with that train of thought.

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking every bit his age. "That, my dear boy, depends on your definition of the word gone. She has been vanquished once more, certainly, but just as certainly, she is still out there; terribly weak, bodiless, powerless, but very much alive in a twisted, warped sense of the word."

"How did she survive in the first place, sir? If Charlus only survived the killing curse because of our mother's sacrifice, then why is Voldemort alive?"

A tumult of emotions flashed so fast in the Headmaster's eyes that Harry could not catch them. He did catch enough to know that whatever the Headmaster said next would almost certainly be a lie. "On that, Harry, we can only wonder. Rest assured, however, it is something I fully intend on discovering."

Harry knew it would be pointless to press any further. Dumbledore had some personal reason for not telling Harry and that was the end of it.

"I have one more question, sir."

"Just the one? Go on then, Harry; time is of the essence."

"Yes sir. Why was Voldemort so insistent on killing me and Charlus? I had always assumed it was to kill our parents, but she didn't kill my father and now you're telling me that she gave my mother the option to step aside." Technically, Dumbledore had only implied that, but it was not exactly difficult to read between the lines.

Dumbledore smiled sadly at him. "You are very perceptive for your age. As a matter of fact, you are marginally too perceptive. I am truly sorry, Harry, but I can not tell you that. I do know and one day, when you're older, when I think you are ready, you shall know too, but today is not that day."

And again, Harry knew that no matter what he said, it would make absolutely no difference. "Yes sir."

"Before you dine on our lovely feast that is due to begin momentarily," Dumbledore told him, and suddenly, a feeling of dread filled Harry as Dumbledore was suddenly stiff as a board and more business like than Harry had ever seen him, "there is one last order of business we must cover."

"Sir?"

"I am speaking of your living arrangements, Harry."

Harry bit back his confusion. "There's nothing to discuss, Headmaster. My father has already told me that I will be staying with him this summer."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, looking sheepish and suddenly, Harry knew with utter terror what was about to happen, "I am afraid, Harry, that James spoke without knowing the full scope of that decision."

"You can't send me back!" Harry snapped, kicking back his chair as he leapt to his feet, all composure gone as his heart rate tripled. Gone was the calm, slick mask that years with the Dursleys and a year in the Snake pit had forged. Gone was the polite boy that greeted all of his teachers. In his place was a boy fuelled by the desperation of a life of abuse and a small, desperate window of escape. "That's not your decision! James Potter is my father, my guardian! James Potter-"

"Has agreed during our meeting earlier today upon hearing my thoughts on the matter that it would be best to send you back to Privet Drive."

"HE WHAT?!" Harry's eyes were glowing now and magic pulsed around him. Casually, Dumbledore allowed his hand to drift ever closer to his wand. "Do you have any idea what they did to me?! Do you have any idea what my childhood was like? Do you have any idea-"

"As a matter of fact, I have at least vague assumptions on the matter." Dumbledore said calmly. "Harry, please calm down or I will have to stun you; this is, I am afraid to say, not a matter I am willing to budge on."

"You have no idea-"

"No, in truth I do not. However, I will insure that there are measures in place this summer to make sure that Petunia and her husband do not repeat the sins of the past." Dumbledore's eyes were rather watery as he looked at Harry. "I am sorry, my boy, but there are matters you do not understand. There are powerful wards protecting Privet Drive forged directly from the power of your mother's sacrifice. If you do not return there in the summers, the wards will crumble. If Lady Voldemort is to return, it is essential that Charlus has Privet Drive as a backup-"

"So you'd throw me to the wolves to protect your golden boy?"

Dumbledore did not waver. "It is not merely about Charlus, Harry. If Charlus falls, our hopes of finishing Lady Voldemort once and for all diminish greatly. I am sorry, Harry, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and you have my most sincere promise that I will ensure nothing like what has happened in the past takes place this summer. I am sorry, my boy, but it is for the Greater Good.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off to the Feast. If you do not wish to attend in light of this rather nasty surprise, I do of course understand." Dumbledore was almost to the door when he paused and turned. "And Harry, please do not try and flee the property this summer. I will know if you leave." And with that bombshell, Dumbledore was gone.

* * *

**June 20th 1992.**

**The Hogwarts Express. **

**6:25 PM.**

Harry had spent much of his last nearly two weeks at Hogwarts in a state of near depression. He had not found it in himself to care about the wards, nor the fact that Slytherin had lost the house cup to Gryffindor as a result of Dumbledore giving out a ridiculous number of points to Charlus, Ron, Hermione and Neville while completely failing to mention Harry. He had not managed to care, either, that his relationship with his brother had completely fallen apart as the boy now glared hatefully at Harry any time they saw each other.

Daphne had cornered him two nights after the fiasco and made him spill what was on his mind. When she had been told, she was downright murderous and near tearful with fury. She had offered to house him for the summer without hesitation, as had Blaise and Tracey once Daphne had told them, but Harry had turned all of them down. He did not want to know what would happen to them if the most powerful wizard in the world realized Harry was living with them. His list of friends was not exactly long. Dumbledore would know it was one of those three, and it wouldn't be difficult to have James formally accuse each family in turn to justify a search of each property. No, there was no way around it.

He could tell as well that his three friends had practically been dying to ask him what had gone on the night he had disappeared. Still, all three of them had the sense not to once the revelations about his summer arrangements had come to light.

Now, the Hogwarts Express was pulling into King's Cross Station. Harry had not participated in any of the games his friends had. He had been completely quiet for the entire ride. For the last hour, however, he had grudgingly allowed Daphne to maintain a vice like grip on his hand. Not that she had given him much of a choice.

The compartment door chose that moment to slide open as Ron's older brother, Percy Weasley stepped in. "End of year grades." he said, passing them each their file. "Please be aware that we are arriving in London." and he left.

Daphne let go of Harry's hand long enough for him to read his grades, which were the first thing all day that had managed to hold his attention.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We thank you for your dedication this year and would like to sincerely congratulate you on all of your achievements. The entirety of the Hogwarts staff is eager to see what shall come next._

_Yours truly,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress._

On the next piece of parchment, the truth was held.

_Passing Grades:_

_O = Outstanding._

_E = Exceeds Expectations._

_A = Acceptable._

_Failing Grades:_

_P = Poor._

_D = Dreadful._

_T = Troll._

_Harry James Potter Has Achieved:_

_Astronomy - O-._

_Charms - O+._

_Defense Against The Dark Arts - O+._

_Herbology - O._

_History of Magic - O._

_Potions - O._

_Transfiguration - O+._

_End of Year Rankings:_

_Astronomy:_

_1 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor. _

_2 - Patil, Padma - Ravenclaw._

_3 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

_4 - Patil, Parvati - Gryffindor._

_5 - Zabini, Blaise - Slytherin._

_Charms:_

_1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

_2 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor._

_3 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin._

_4 - Patil, Padma - Ravenclaw. _

_5 - Potter, Charlus - Gryffindor. _

_Defense Against The Dark Arts:_

_1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

_2 - Potter, Charlus - Gryffindor._

_3 - Nott, Theodore - Slytherin._

_4 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin._

_5 - Zabini, Blaise - Slytherin._

_Herbology:_

_1 - Longbottom, Neville - Gryffindor._

_2 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin._

_3 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor._

_4 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

_5 - Davis, Tracey - Slytherin._

_History of Magic: _

_1 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor._

_2 - Parkinson, Pansy - Slytherin._

_3 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

_4 - Li, Su - Ravenclaw._

_5 - Zabini, Blaise - Slytherin._

_Potions: _

_1 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin._

_2 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

_3 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor._

_4 - Malfoy, Draco - Slytherin._

_5 - Davis, Tracey - Slytherin._

_Transfiguration:_

_1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

_2 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin._

_3 - Potter, Charlus - Gryffindor._

_4 - Nott, Theodore - Slytherin._

_5 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor._

_Overall:_

_1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin._

2 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor

3 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin.

4 - Patil, Padma - Ravenclaw.

5 - Nott, Theodore - Slytherin.

"I did it." Harry said, a small bubble of happiness breaking through his wall of oppressive despair.

"Did what?" Blaise asked, scanning the rankings with raised eyebrows.

"I tied the record for most O+'s ever for a first year."

"Wow!" exclaimed Tracey, looking at Harry with pure adoration. "What subjects?"

"Charms, Defense Against The Dark Arts and Transfiguration."

Blaise whistled. "I've never heard of anyone getting three, let alone in first year. That's impressive." he sneered at Daphne. "You managed it in Potions, I presume?"

"Yes." she answered curtly, glancing at Harry's marks with a roll of her eyes. "You got an O in History? You don't even come to History?"

Harry cracked a weak smile in spite of himself. "This brilliant brain, remember?" he asked, referencing her statement from all the way back in September.

She snorted. "I had forgotten I ever said that."

"I didn't."

In spite of themselves, all of Harry's friends were in stitches laughing, even him.

* * *

**#4 Privet Drive.**

**Two Hours Later.**

After a miserable Harry Potter, back at Privet Drive for the summer, had unpacked his trunk, he found that something was giving off an odd, bluish light. For a second, he thought it was the parchment connected to his brother's but it wasn't. It was, to his great shock and worry, the book that Voldemort had given him while disguised as Hurst.

Cautiously he opened it to the first page, where words were suddenly written.

_Hello Harry,_

_I'm not exactly sure why the last Hogwarts Defense professor gave you this book but I have managed to get a hold of its connected partner when Hogwarts sold off all of the old Professor's things for their charitable fund. I must confess, I find myself rather impressed with the connective enchantments and am rather pleased to speak with you._

_I have some friends rather close to Hogwarts, albeit I am currently not in Britain, though I did grow up there. I have heard some rumours about your rather outstanding accolades during your first year and I find myself most intrigued. _

_If you have any questions, I have spent much of my life travelling far and wide learning the secrets of magic and I would love to help you on your way._

_Write back soon, _

_Emily._

* * *

**June 20th 1992.**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**

**The Headmaster's Office.**

**9:00 PM.**

Albus sighed as he looked up from his work and gazed at the clock. Young Harry Potter would be back at the mercy of his relatives by this point and in spite of himself, Albus had spent much time thinking of the boy over the past week and a half.

James had been rather against the idea of sending Harry back; not even the blood wards had been enough to convince him. Albus had been given little choice but to reveal yet another snippet of the prophecy.

James had been rightfully furious to know that Albus had only told him the first stanza of it over ten years ago, but he had quickly seen reason upon hearing the third stanza, even if Albus had still kept most of the prophecy to himself. Of course, James did not know that, but he now knew the danger of keeping the Potter twins together now that their relationship was so strained. According to the third stanza of Sybil Trelawney's Great Prophecy, that mistake could start the beginning of the end.

"_Only when the twins' bond is broken by the cruelty of betrayal will The Eternal War come to pass, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. As The Eternal War nears its crescendo, darkness shall suppress all light and only when the fabric of Death is torn to the wayside shall The Saviour make his final stand."_

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**And on that absolute bombshell, year 1 is in the books!**

**I apologize for the cliffhanger of all cliffhangers, but again, it's only because I love you guys :)**

**Before this turns into a thank you letter as I'm sure it will, I would like to touch on one thing very quickly.**

**I am sure people will dislike Harry going after Charlus. I did try and make this clear in the chapter but I will lay it out in very simple terms here. **

**A, Harry was not going off looking for a confrontation with the agent of Voldemort, he simply knew it was a possibility. His ideal scenario was to get to Charlus before he encountered Voldemort or her agent at all. Obviously, that did not happen, but if you've kept up with this story, you'll know that Harry's plans don't always go to plan because he is eleven and far from perfect, unlike many Slytherin Harry stories I see. **

**And B, Harry is a Slytherin, but he is not the basic personification of a Slytherin. I see so many Slytherin Harry stories in which I swear the only traits he possesses are those of Slytherin house, which is completely ridiculous when you look at it from a sociological and psychological perspective. Aside from his advanced intellect and such, I am going for a semi realistic portrayal in terms of his character breakdown. His dominant traits most of the time are his Slytherin ones, but Harry definitely does have a bit of Gryffindor in him, even though he is loathed to admit it. This will be an ongoing theme as he will eventually have to internalize this and slowly temper it. There will come a point where it is practically non-existent but if I want to develop his character through the use of that characteristic, I must first establish that said characteristic exists in the first place. **

**Thank you all so much for the support on year 1! I know that I have said on a number of occasions that I am blown away, but it is true. Nearly 2k followers in less than four months is absolutely absurd! I honestly never expected this story to take off in the way that it has, so I am super appreciative for all of your guys' support and reviews over this first year. Trust me when I say this is only the beginning and it only gets better from here! The further this story progresses, the less and less I will follow HP canon, so I truly cannot wait for the point where I pretty much scrap canon altogether.**

**Speaking of continuity, all seven years WILL BE POSTED UNdER THIS STORY ON ! I WILL NOT be splitting it up into multiple books, so there is no need to worry about keeping up with the story. If you are following this story, you will get updates for year 2 and beyond!**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The first chapter of year 2 will be posted next Saturday, June 13th 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	19. SS Ch 1: Reunions and Revelations

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile and for . I had to write it in that format for the site to allow it on my profile.**

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**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on **

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 1: Reunions and Revelations.**

* * *

_**June 20, 1992.**_

_**King's Cross Station.**_

_**6:31 PM.**_

Charlus watched his brother leave Platform 9¾ for the Muggle World with very mixed emotions. On one hand, his brother was an absolute, undeniable git. On the other hand, if these muggles really were as bad as Harry made them out to be, then weren't Dumbledore and his dad also gits for sending him back there?

Beside him, his best friend, Ron Weasley, was completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. Charlus suspected his other best friend, Hermione Granger, may have suspected at least part of it since she shot him a near exasperated look before wishing her two friends a pleasant summer and following in Harry's footsteps as she too vanished through the barrier into the Muggle World.

"She really is mental, isn't she?" Ron asked with obvious fondness.

In spite of himself, Charlus smiled. "Yup, sure is." Then, he saw something that temporarily washed Harry from his thoughts, if only for a few seconds, as a wide smile split across his face and his deep, hazel eyes suddenly filled with warmth. Standing a bit ahead of the two Gryffindors were Ron's mother and sister, who had already been joined by their eldest son at Hogwarts, Percy. Standing with them too though, was one of Charlus's favourite people in the entire world.

"Uncle Pete!" he exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap the man in a tight hug. Peter Pettigrew chuckled as he hugged his godson back before briefly tousling the boy's hair before they split apart.

"Looking sharp, sport!" Peter told him with a rather infectious smile. "You've grown since last summer; your hair is still dreadful, but we'll take what we can get."

Charlus scowled playfully at his godfather. Peter had always mocked both him and his father for their unruly hair, something James had always taken pride in for that exact reason. "_If it pisses off Peter," _he had joked, "_it's alright in my books."_

"How was your year, sport?" Charlus hesitated for the briefest of moments, something that he knew had instantly given him away to his godfather, who's eyes had sharpened almost at once. It was odd to see that calculating, evaluative air in his godfather's gaze. His father had talked about it enough, for he had told him proudly that his godfather was one of the best detectives the DMLE had ever seen, and had even called Peter a deductive genius. But it was another thing altogether for Charlus to see Peter like this.

"It was fun!" he said, and it was mostly true. "I did alright on the exams, Quidditch was a blast. I met some new friends and me and Ron got to spend a year at Hogwarts!" From his side, Ron grinned at Peter.

"Good to see you, sir." Ron said respectfully to Peter. Charlus rolled his eyes, knowing that the rebuke was coming. For whatever reason, Ron seemed to hold anyone in a position within the DMLE in a regard similar to how most people held Professor Dumbledore.

Peter too rolled his eyes, though he smiled affectionately at Ron. "For Merlin's sake, Ron! How many days have you and Charlus terrorized the manor while I was over with James? It's just Peter, none of this sir business." he lowered his voice to a rather loud mock whisper, "James gets called sir a lot at work. I can't afford to have an ego as big as his." Ron and Charlus both laughed as Percy shot Peter a mildly disapproving glance and Mrs. Weasley smiled at him fondly.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to come over for dinner, Peter?"

Peter waved his hand airily. "No, no, that's perfectly alright, Molly, but thank you very much for the offer. I haven't seen my godson in ten months and I'd really like to catch up with him; you know how it is, of course?"

Molly smiled fondly at Ron. "Oh, I certainly do."

Charlus turned to Ginny. In his youth, the other girl had always acted rather skittish around him, blushing at the mere idea of being close to him. Over the last year or two, however, she had lost that habit and when he was over at the Burrow, he had barely even seen her. "You're starting at Hogwarts next year, aren't you Gin?"

She scowled at him. "Don't call me that." she snapped pointedly.

"Ginny," chided Mrs. Weasley, "don't be rude; it was only a question."

Ginny rolled her eyes, though her mother did not see it. "Yes, Charlus, I am." she answered with mock politeness.

"I'd love to chat, Molly," Peter broke in, "but knowing those delightful twins of yours the way I do, I reckon we'd be here a little longer than I think either me or Charlus want to stand around. It's getting late, after all, and I had to switch my shifts so I could pick him up today. I've got to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, you understand?"

"Of course, Peter. You really must come over for dinner soon; you and James both. The DMLE have run the pair of you ragged this year. Speaking of which, where is James, exactly?"

"At work, I'm afraid. He got a tip off about that break-in near Diagon a few days ago. Couldn't switch shifts."

"That just proves my point!"

Peter smiled bashfully back at her. "I suppose it does. Trust me, Molly, I daresay you'll be seeing the both of us soon. James might be thick, but even he's not dense enough to turn down an invitation to enjoy your excellent cooking." Then, he rested a hand on Charlus's shoulder, making the younger boy smile when he saw the obvious affection shining in his godfather's eyes. "Well, what do you say, sport? Should we head to the manor?"

Charlus nodded eagerly and followed Peter to the floo connections. Within minutes, the two of them stood in the front foyer of Potter Manor. A house elf took Charlus's trunk up to his room within seconds, and the boy himself was sitting in a comfortable armchair across from his godfather before he knew it.

"So, Charlus," said Peter, foreshadowing the seriousness of the discussion through the use of his godson's first name, "what was it that happened this year at Hogwarts that has you so twitchy?"

Charlus hesitated. "Has Dad not told you?"

"Can't." Peter answered easily. "Said he'd have liked to; said he'd have done it if he could, but he's under an oath, best I can figure out."

Charlus waited only a second longer. He was sure that his father would not mind if he told his Uncle Pete.

And then, the tale began.

* * *

_**Minutes Later, at Greengrass Manor...**_

Daphne landed gracefully on her feet in the entrance hall of her ancestral home, having used the portkey feature tied into her heiress ring upon seeing Tracey and her parents off. As soon as she landed, Daphne allowed a fond, soft smile for the home in which she had grown up. Here was a place that demanded no masks, no facades. Here was a place where Daphne could simply be at ease — be herself.

Her reverie was shattered in that moment when Astoria entered the hall, made a controlled but urgent beeline towards Daphne, and wrapped her arms around her. Daphne laughed softly as she wrapped her arms around her younger sister. "You and Charlotte are terrible." she teased, remembering how the youngest of the Weitts family had done the same thing at the Samhain party all those months ago.

Astoria made a face. "You can't tell me you didn't miss me!" she challenged.

Daphne just smiled as she ruffled her younger sister's hair, something that prompted Astoria to bat her hand away in annoyance. "No," Daphne admitted, wrapping an arm around her sister as she steered her towards the sitting room where she was sure her mother would be waiting just as she had been for the Yuletide break, "I can't."

Sure enough, her mother was waiting for her and upon her entrance, Celia Greengrass swept to her feet and took Daphne into her arms. Daphne allowed herself to relax into her mother as they took their seats on the couch, with Daphne snuggling into her mother's side. Celia sighed in mock exasperation at her daughter's antics.

"And you said I was bad." Astoria accused through her grin, eyeing her sister's obvious state of content. In response, Daphne merely shot Astoria a glare, but judging by her younger sister's smirk, she had failed to put the normal sort of power into that glare.

"How were your grades?" her mother asked after Daphne had told her a slightly edited account of her first year at Hogwarts. She was sure her mother knew, but Celia Greengrass was not really the type to press.

"I thought they were good." Daphne said a bit nervously. "E's in Astronomy and History, an E+ in Defense Against The Dark Arts, O's in Charms and Herbology, an O- in Transfiguration and an O+ in Potions."

Her mother nodded. "More than acceptable." she said with approval. "I was hoping for an O in Transfiguration based on your mid year grades, but I can hardly be disappointed with an O-."

"I was hoping for an O as well." Daphne said with a sigh. "McGonagall is a fairly hard marker, so I can't really be too disappointed."

"Did that friend of yours get an O?" Celia asked knowingly, obviously referencing Harry.

"Oh, him," Daphne said with mock distaste and an exaggerated rolling of the eyes, "no, of course not. He got an O+."

Astoria gasped and even her mother looked taken aback. To say that was a rarity would be a line typical for somebody with a profound talent for understatement. "That is very impressive." Celia's lips twitched. "Prodigious, even."

Daphne smiled fondly. "The prat got three of them."

"What?" Celia asked sharply. "I would wager that has never been done before."

"It was done once before according to Harry. I never asked who, but probably Dumbledore."

"What were his other two best grades?"

"Charms and Defense Against The Dark Arts."

"Do you know what his showcases were?"

"I know he used a cheering charm in Flitwick's." she said, which made her mother look even more surprised, "It's apparently a third year spell." she informed Astoria, who covered her own mouth in surprise. "I never asked what he did in Transfiguration and he wouldn't tell us about Defense." she shook her head. "Professor Hurst was an absolutely brutal marker, but a brilliant teacher! I wish I knew what he did; I can only imagine what it would have taken..."

"What happened to the Defense professor this year?" Celia asked, with the air of somebody inquiring about the weather.

Daphne hesitated. She had never had the chance to ask Harry what had happened the night he went after his brother but Blaise, Tracey and herself did have their suspicions and the timing of Hurst's disappearance, mixed with the fact that both Snape and Sinistra were still teaching was rather suspicious. "We weren't told." she answered, which clearly fooled Astoria, but did not fool her mother.

"I see." she said cryptically. "Well, dinner should be ready soon. I know you said at Yule that you wanted to shower as soon as you got home, so I will let you do that now if you would like?"

"Please." Daphne sighed, getting to her feet and making for the hallway.

"Daphne." her mother called, drawing her attention. "If there is anything about your first year you would like to talk about, I would love to listen."

And that was it. She didn't press for information, nor did she stick her nose into her daughter's business. Instead, she simply offered the invitation for Daphne to share more if she wanted. That was one of the many things that she liked quite a lot about her mother. In response, she merely smiled before turning on her heel and making her way up to her room.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor...**_

Tentatively, Draco knocked on the door of his father's study. It was one of the only rooms he was not allowed to enter without an invitation and was probably the most heavily warded room in the entire manor. When he was given the metaphorical green light to enter the room, he did so, sparing a nervous glance for the family portraits, bookshelves, fireplace and desk that dominated the room. His father was standing in front of his desk and to Draco; he looked very much as if he had just stopped pacing.

"How was your first year?" Lucius asked a bit stiffly.

Draco resisted the urge to recoil, but he managed to answer in a level voice nonetheless. "It was fun, for the most part. Except for…" he allowed his voice to trail off. His father knew perfectly well what he was talking about.

"Ah yes," Lucius said in little more than a whisper and suddenly, Draco was reminded rather painfully of the reason that so many people within the Wizarding World feared his father. "Right to the heart of it, I see." he took a long, deliberate pause before he looked at Draco. "You have failed the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy." Lucius said bluntly.

Draco reared back as if struck. "Father-"

"You have disgraced your house through your decorum and poor execution. You have acted childish and immature, and even had you not, I am certain any plan you would have devised this year would have failed due to your pathetically high degree of ineptitude-"

"Father… I… please-"

"Crucio."

Lucius's wand had flashed from his sleeve faster than Draco could track and before he knew it, he had collapsed in a heap, screaming his throat raw as he experienced pain beyond belief. His father had never cursed him before, and Draco would have been positively stunned by the fact had he been able to think of anything other than the pure, unadulterated agony that flowed through his veins like blood and consumed every fibre of his being.

Finally, mercifully, the curse was lifted and a panting, shaking Draco looked up with wide, terrified eyes brimming with unshed tears. "You will not interrupt me again." Lucius told him. He did not yell. As a matter of fact, he barely whispered the words, but every syllable was tinged with danger. "Instead, you will explain to me exactly how your pathetic plan was thwarted by a measly half blood and exactly how I came to owe James Potter fifty-thousand galleons?"

"You… you what?"

"Do not be a fool!" Lucius snarled. "The trial has yet to take place, but I have no hope of winning the case due to your incompetence!" Draco flinched back as Lucius took a long, deep breath and composed himself. "Now," he continued, "the answers to my questions, Draco?"

Draco gulped. This was going to be a very long first night back at Malfoy Manor.

* * *

_**Minutes later, at Castillo Zabini...**_

Another thing that Blaise disliked about international Portkeys was the fact that unlike most standardized Portkeys, they required a longer travel time. The feeling of spinning through space and time at the speed of light was nauseating enough in Blaise's esteemed and well-practiced opinion, but when one had to endure the feeling for more than twice as long as normal without reprieve, it was not a pleasant experience.

Idly, Blaise peered down at the necklace that he wore but did his best to conceal at all times. Blaise did not wear an heir ring, as House Zabini was not one that belonged to Magical Britain. This necklace was the closest thing to one he owned, though it was not emblazoned with the Zabini crest. Instead, it was marked by a simple yet symbolic triangular mark that had been as important as any crest to the Zabini family for generations.

Blaise barely paid the house elf any mind as he stepped past it and made his way towards the same sitting room that he had met his mother in upon his arrival over Yule. When he entered, she was waiting for him this time, not reading as she had last. She spared him the briefest smile one could possibly imagine, but nothing beyond that.

"_How were your grades, mio caro?"_

"_Passable, I suspect." _Blaise answered in smooth Italian_. "An A in Astronomy, E's in Herbology, History, and Transfiguration. I achieved O-'s in Charms and Defense, but I think I'd have received an O under any other instructor in the latter."_

"_Oh, was she an unfair professor?"_

"_No, just very demanding."_

"_How interesting. How did our mutual interest perform?"_

Blaise nearly winced. 'He's my friend, Mother.' he wanted to spit at her but he did not. Showing weakness in front of her was not an option; it had never been.

"_He received an O+; as he did in Charms and Transfiguration."_

"_How very interesting. He is the one then, mio caro?"_

Blaise hesitated. "_He might be; but I need more time. I'm not sure yet."_

His mother nodded in acceptance. "_I shall speed plans along then." _she decided. "_You will pass him an invitation next summer when the time comes?"_

"_Of course, Mother."_

* * *

_**An hour later, at Potter Manor...**_

Charlus finished the tale of his first year at Hogwarts with a sigh of relief. It had been painful to relive parts of it; notably Harry's actions down in the chamber and his utter failure against Voldemort. As he sipped his tea and ate his way through the heaping plate of his favourites that the house elves had prepared, the talking only became easier and easier. When he finished, he looked at Peter imploringly.

"Do-do you think Harry is going dark, Uncle Pete?"

Peter hesitated as an emotion Charlus could not place flashed past his eyes. "It's possible, sport." he admitted.

"He _is_ in Slytherin." Charlus said darkly.

"Come on, sport, just because he's in Slytherin doesn't mean he's going to go dark. Plenty of good chaps have come out of Slytherin."

"But you just said-"

"Yup, but being in Slytherin didn't have anything to do with it."

"But Slytherin always… wait? Who's a good chap to come out of Slytherin?"

"Your grandmother, for starters." Peter said with a mischievous grin. "There's that one bloke too, hmm — I'm not sure if you'll have heard of him. Someone like — Merlin, maybe?"

"What?" Charlus exclaimed, his jaw falling open. "No way he was in Slytherin!"

"Yup," Peter said, that same mischievous smile still on his face, "he was picked by Salazar Slytherin himself before the Sorting Hat even existed."

Charlus gaped. "But," he said, trying to pull his head back on task, "you still think Harry could be going dark?"

Peter sighed. "I think it's definitely possible. What you're telling me about him hesitating… well, that's not good. Usually when somebody hesitates like that, in a stressful situation, they have something to hide." he gave Charlus a rather piercing look that reminded him oddly of Professor Dumbledore. "Never hesitate if you want to look trustworthy." he told his godson, and Charlus noted that down for future reference. It would probably be important in front of the press and the like.

Peter eyed Charlus critically. "Something else is bothering you." he correctly deduced, causing Charlus to flush red. "Come on, sport; out with it."

Charlus hung his head. "I wasn't good enough."

Peter blinked. "What?"

"Voldemort-"

"Don't say that name, Charlus."

"Professor Dumbledore told me I should say the name."

Peter sighed. "Of course he did. Well, if you must then."

"Voldemort beat me so easily! I never even got a spell off! I walked in, got disarmed, got taunted and then got bound and that was the end of it!" He was becoming distraught just talking about it and Peter clearly noticed, for he set his fork down decisively and made hard eye contact with his godson.

"Charlus, listen to me. For one thing, that was incredibly brave what you did. A bit foolish, but incredibly brave and something to be proud of. For another, you are eleven! If your brother had one thing right, that was it! There is no way you could have competed against one of the most powerful sorcerers ever at the age of eleven!"

"But Harry did better than I did — way better!"

This gave Peter pause. "Did he?"

"Yes! He didn't land a spell on her either, but he got a few off and even fought her off for a few seconds." he hung his head. "I can't be worse than him!"

"Maybe he just practiced more than you did, sport. It's no worry. You'll just have to work harder. Make up for the time."

Then, Charlus looked up with a gleam in his eye. "The summer!"

Peter frowned. "What about the summer?"

"I could practice in the summer! You told me how the trace works! Hey! Didn't you tell me about tutors that one time? Do you think I could get a tutor for duelling? Maybe other stuff too, but mainly duelling?"

Peter did not answer at once, appearing to be in a state of deep thought. "I really don't know if your father would approve." he answered at last.

"Dad's always wanted me to train-"

"But this is different." Peter cut across him sternly. "This is learning to fight at the age of eleven, because you'd want to know how to fight, not duel."

Charlus frowned. "What's the difference?"

"A duel has rules. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named never followed rules."

Charlus paused before turning hazel puppy dog eyes on Peter. "But could YOU get me a tutor?"

Peter paused in a rather deliberate fashion. "I… may be able to. But I would never go behind James'-"

"I won't tell!" Charlus assured him. "It could be while he was at work or something? We could do it at your place so the tutor wouldn't have to get past the wards. Please, Uncle Pete! Pleeease?"

Peter paused. "If-if you promise… if you swear that you won't tell James, or preferably anybody else for that matter — not on your magic, just your word, I... suppose I could see what I could do."

* * *

_**Later that night, at No. 4 Privet Drive...**_

Harry froze at the sight of the words written upon the first page. Naturally, knowing whom Hurst had truly turned out to be, he was more than a little bit apprehensive as to what might really be going on here.

Emily… he'd heard that name before… and then it clicked. The prodigy who had vanished from the pages of history. Likely the last Parselmouth to have attended Hogwarts before Harry himself. But, then again, Emily was not such an uncommon name. Harry cursed the Statute of Secrecy. Now that he knew how the Trace truly worked, he knew that Privet Drive would be one of those locations easy for the Ministry to pick up on. He was sure that there was no witch or wizard living anywhere near Privet Drive. This unfortunately meant that Harry could not rely on any detection spells he had picked up from the book Grace had gifted to him, nor the ones that Cassius, Hestia and Flora had taught him on Yule.

That left only Harry's instinct to work off of, and for some inexplicable reason, his instinct was pleading for him to take the metaphorical leap of faith.

'I've made so many bad decisions lately.' he thought as with a great inhale of breath that caused him to unintentionally turn invisible, Harry put a quill to the parchment.

_Emily is a pretty common name. _

_Is there a surname that you would be comfortable sharing?_

Harry waited only a minute before the reply appeared and his breath caught in his throat.

_You are clever, Mister Potter, very clever indeed._

_Seeing as I know exactly who you are and you know nothing of me, I suppose telling you that my surname is Riddle isn't too far of an overextension on my part. _

_To most, that name would mean nothing, but to yourself, if the rumours hold true, I have a feeling you might just know of it?_

Harry paused, choosing his next words very carefully. If he was going to dive head-first into a conversation with somebody who he did not know, he would do so at least by trying to verify the validity of anything his "pen pal" was saying.

_I do, as a matter of fact, know of the name Emily Riddle. _

_You will understand, of course, if I ask for assurances that it is indeed Emily Riddle whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?_

The reply came less than a minute later.

_Ah, Slytherin — how I miss my old house…_

_Some may call it paranoia, but I truly treasure the values that Slytherin House instills upon those who take up residence there. I could, of course, tell you that I hold the record for most O+'s achieved as a first year as well as on the O.W.L and N.E.W.T examinations, but I would be very disappointed in my newfound acquaintance if you settled for that. So… hmm, what to say? What you may know? Ah! There is a corridor deep within the Hogwarts dungeons that has been found by very few. It is a more lifelike depiction of the snakes in the corridor nearest the Slytherin common room and can be accessed through either a very long, monotonous walk, or through a secret passage hidden behind…_

Harry had to internally applaud her. It gave nothing of importance away but was just the kind of tidbit that would prove her identity. He also noted that she did not give away the fact that she was a Parselmouth. Seeing as Harry had no plan of doing so either, he thought that this was perfectly fine by him. After all, he already knew that about her, even if she did not realize it.

_A suit of armour very near the bottom of the staircase leading into the dungeons. _

_Well played, Emily Riddle, and it is a pleasure to meet you, at least in a sense. _

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts...**_

Severus Snape did not bother to knock on the Headmaster's door. He knew that Dumbledore would call for him to enter before he ever had the chance. Privately, the Potions Master had always thought that a rather rude habit, but he would not dare to voice his thoughts so openly. When he entered, there was already a comfortable looking chair ready and waiting across from the Headmaster, and Severus slid gracefully into the seat before a word was said between the two of them. He had met the Headmaster like this on a countless number of occasions over the years, but never had such a meeting started with such an undeniable air of tension.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, by way of an icebreaker, "I was wondering when I might see you. Could I perhaps interest you with my newfound muggle delicacy?"

"No," Snape said shortly, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the bright bag on Dumbledore's desk, "you know perfectly well my thoughts on muggle sweets, Dumbledore."

"Ah yes, I do indeed, but I do find myself hoping you will one day change such narrow minded views and embrace the true treasures of the world in which we live." the man smiled benignly at Snape for several seconds before allowing the expression to fall from his face. "Is it safe to assume that you are here for the exact reason I suspect?"

"I would hope so." Snape said snidely. "If not, you may very well be losing your touch."

The old man chuckled. "Such a thing is possible." he admitted. "But on this occasion, I do believe I am acutely aware of why you are here." He steepled his fingers and took on a more businesslike demeanour. "I cannot say that I have eagerly anticipated this meeting but alas, I have known that it was inevitable. I know you have questions for me, so ask away."

"What happened down in the catacombs?" Snape asked at once.

Dumbledore did not so much as blink at the question. "Charlus went after the agent of Lady Voldemort. He and his two acquaintances managed to evade the traps we had laid forth and Charlus alone advanced into the final room where he came face to face with Amelia Hurst."

"It was her then as we had suspected?"

"It was, though I admit, I underestimated Voldemort on that front." when he saw Snape's crooked eyebrow, he elaborated. "You see, I had suspected possession. Such a thing would have allowed Voldemort a certain level of control over the body she inhabited." he wrinkled his nose. "The truth, however, turned out to be more heinous than that. Voldemort struck a witch down in the forest of Albania according to Charlus. She told him and his brother that she used a snake to do so. At that point, she merely chose to inhabit and seize full and complete control of the body." Dumbledore shook his head. "She also managed to fool my Priori Incantatem because she had a second wand, with which she used to kill the troll on Halloween in apparent defense of Charlus's twin."

Snape's eye twitched but he said nothing on the reasoning for it. "I must admit that I only understand possession on a mental level." Snape admitted, referencing a similar phenomenon that could be accomplished through a ridiculously high level of Legilimency. When Dumbledore nodded, he continued. "Even in light of my lack of understanding, I would think it impossible to completely occupy another's body for so long?"

"I am not much more familiar with the magic than you are, I'm afraid." Dumbledore answered honestly. "I do know, however, that in theory, that should be the case. One's soul is a precise thing and it is designed for a very specific body. From what Charlus told me, Voldemort was maintaining the solidity of the body through the consumption of unicorn blood."

Snape nodded slowly. "That… would likely be sufficient." he conceded. It was a rather brilliant idea.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed hollowly, "your next inquisition, Severus?"

"It was the Gryffindor Potter who defeated her once more?"

"It was."

"You are certain of this?"

"I am."

"How did he do it this time?"

"The same way he did it the first time, I believe." Dumbledore answered. "Sacrificial magic is a very powerful thing, and mixed with the enigma that is the magic centering around love as a catalyst…" he shrugged. "I believe that an essence of that protection still lives on inside of Charlus. I do not believe this protection would extend to anything beyond matters pertaining to Lady Voldemort, but I do not believe she will be able to harm him unless she finds a way of overcoming that barrier."

"She will do so as long as she lives on." Snape said bluntly. "She is more gifted with blood magic than any and is at the very least, equal to me in terms of her knowledge in regards to potion making."

"I am glad to see we both view that outcome as the most likely one." Dumbledore agreed

"She is still alive then?"

"Alive is a rather abstract term. I do not know if she is technically alive based on the fundamental constructs of nature, but she certainly is not dead."

Snape rolled his eyes at Dumbledore's antics. "Surely you are one or the other?" he asked, actually mildly interested.

"In most any other case, you are indeed correct. Nature demands that you fall under one of the two categorizations for rather deep reasons that we frankly need not delve into. Suffice to say that Voldemort has found a way to one-up nature itself."

Grudgingly, Snape had to admit a degree of awe for such an accomplishment.

There was a long, awkward pause in which an unasked question hung in the air. "I know that you know or suspect the majority of this already, Severus." Dumbledore said bluntly, losing patience with Snape's stalling. Frankly, it was late and he had much to do before leaving for his annual ICW convention next week. "We both know the question you are trying to work up the courage to ask, so please, go on and ask it."

Snape stared at Dumbledore hard and sneered before positively spitting the question at the man in front of him. "You meant for this to happen!" It was not a question. His voice carried so much poorly masked anger that it was most obviously a statement. "This whole time, it was supposed to be about protecting Lily Potter's son. Instead of doing as you had promised me ten years ago, you used the boy as yet another pawn in your plans."

"And what makes you think this, Severus?"

"Please, Dumbledore. A chess set? I know it was Minerva's puzzle but we both know when you say sit, Minerva quickly obliges." Dumbledore frowned at the demeaning of his long time friend, but he did not cut the man off. "Weasley is well-known as a chess prodigy, so the challenge was tailor-made for him. The Devil's Snare can be beaten by a clever first year if they know how to conjure blue bell flames." he sneered again. "Granger made it rather obvious she knew exactly how to cast the flames and in hindsight, my puzzle was exactly the sort of thing she would be capable of solving, but I had never expected a keen muggleborn to walk into the trap. As for Potter, flying brooms? Honestly, if I'd have known the traps beforehand, I'd have done a lot more to keep Charlus Potter well away from that blasted corridor. The only true tasks were the cerberus and the troll, both of which were dealt with in advance for the terrific trio hell-bent on treacherous undertakings."

"You have said everything but your point, Severus. Please make it so that your thinking is out in the open."

"You have spent the year observing Potter and his friends in an effort to manufacture a confrontation between him and the Dark Lady."

The silence that rested within the room was more heavy and oppressive than any thus far and Snape watched clinically as Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a long, deep, breath before answering. "I admit that I may have guided things in that general direction, yes."

"This whole time, it was supposed to be about protecting Lily Evans's son!" Snape hissed. "Now you are telling me that you knowingly sent him after the Dark Lady?"

"Severus, consider what I have told you. I was certain that Voldemort could not harm Charlus. By ensuring a confrontation between the two of them, I was not only confirming several of my own theories, but I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, Charlus could finish her once and for all."

"A plan worthy of a Gryffindor." Snape spat. "So many things that could have gone terribly wrong and in your infinite wisdom, you failed to account for the other Potter, who does not seem to have this mark of love that protects him from the Dark Lady. What, Albus? Is he expendable to you?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I was unaware that he had ingratiated himself to you so drastically."

"Answer my question!"

Dumbledore sighed again, suddenly looking every bit his age as he responded. "I had very good reasons to believe that both Potter twins would survive an encounter with Lady Voldemort. In saying so, I must admit that I had not even considered the possibility that Harry would go after his brother." Snape was not entirely sure that he believed the Hogwarts Headmaster, but he did not dare to try and legilimize Dumbledore to be certain. Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "You have my word, Severus, that I will do nothing like this again and that I will revert to the original plan of keeping Lily Evans's son safe."

Snape sneered as he swept to his feet, already gliding towards the door. "You had better, Dumbledore, because I did not agree to help a chess master who cares nothing for his pawns."

* * *

_**Late that night, at Peter Pettigrew's Apartment...**_

Peter brushed soot off of his robes as he stepped out of the Floo and looked around his rather well-furnished apartment in London. It was by no means comparable to the manor homes that were frequented by many of the major pureblood families in Magical Britain, but between his cut from the lawsuit that he helped James fulfill nearly four years ago, and his considerable pay as a special detective for the DMLE, Peter had managed a rather luxurious apartment.

Allowing himself a brief moment of content, Peter allowed his eyes to roam over the plush sitting room with a great deal of fondness. In this brief moment, Peter managed to allow the events of this day to slip through the cracks in his mind before, with a sigh and a degree of ruthless determination, Peter brought his mind back to the problems at hand.

He found it ironic, as he reminisced about a day months earlier when he had tried so hard to find out exactly what Dumbledore was hiding behind that locked door that now, months later, Charlus had happily spilled everything to Peter without much hesitation. True, he had been hesitant at first, but half a drop of Veritaserum had been more than enough to convince him. It had not been enough to force him to speak on the matter, but just enough to nudge him in the right direction. Peter knew that his godson would truly want to tell him; he had simply known that it would take some encouragement on his part.

'A shame,' he thought, reflecting on that tragic day once more, 'a shame that I had to wait so long… a shame that kid had to die.'

* * *

_**The Past.**_

_**October 11, 1991.**_

_**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**_

_**4:35 PM.**_

Peter had wasted no time after seeing the Potter heir to his meeting with James. Pulling the hood of his cloak up over his face, Peter quickly scampered out of the Three Broomsticks and into the first abandoned alley he could find. When he arrived, he promptly transformed into the form that had affectionately been christened Wormtail so many years earlier.

It had been tedious to wait for the door of Honeydukes to open and difficult to weave through the feet of so many Hogwarts students without being stepped on, but Peter managed it after some cautious deliberation. Once in the cellar, he briefly took on human form once more to open the passageway before morphing back into a rat and sliding effortlessly into the tunnel, scampering down the tunnel as fast as his bobby little legs would carry him.

It had taken some house calls to some rather unpleasant old friends of his to set this little distraction up for the night of Samhain, and Peter would be damned if he wasted such an opportunity. Just because he had no good reason to be at the castle on the night of Samhain did not mean others could not be used to get him what he needed.

When, at long last, Peter exited the passage back into the familiar corridors of Hogwarts, a sight that still filled the rat animagus with a fair bit of nostalgia, Peter simply waited. He was not overly bothered who it was that would have the misfortune of taking the fall.

It turned out that the distinctly unlucky person in question was a tall, athletic boy in Slytherin robes who strolled into the corridor about thirty minutes later. It had been so easy for Peter to quickly scamper behind him and shift to human form without the boy even noticing. From there, it had all been academic.

"IMPERIO!"

As if his world had been put on pause, the unknown Slytherin froze in mid stride and his back straightened almost comically, as he turned to look at Peter. Peter had always thought it amusing how those subjected to the Imperius Curse always wound up looking very much like muggle soldiers standing at attention. The boy's eyes were glassy, but Peter knew that effect would cease the moment he had received his instructions. A true master with the Imperius Curse could give detailed, long-term instructions through simple thoughts. Peter, who was never Merlin with a wand by any means, could not, but he had faith enough in his abilities that his verbal communications would not fail. For something as simple as getting the Slytherin to enter the secret passage as for them to not be overheard, Peter merely had to twitch his wand in that general direction. Once the two of them were safely in the passage and well and truly out of earshot, Peter turned to the boy with a businesslike expression.

"I'll cut to the chase. I want to know what's in that third floor corridor. I have a distraction all lined up, all you need to do is follow my simple instructions to make sure it goes off without a hitch and then go take a peek behind that door. Are you following?"

Terence Higgs nodded mutely.

* * *

_**The Present.**_

_**Peter Pettigrew's Apartment.**_

Peter sighed as he shook his head. His intention had never been for Terence Higgs to die. He had planned to sneak into Hogwarts the very day after Samhain as Wormtail, get the kid to meet him at the statue and spill the beans. At that point, Peter would have simply instructed him to forget the whole scenario and they would be off on their separate ways. He didn't feel guilty, per se. Albus Dumbledore had always worked towards his greater good, and though Peter thought it was completely backwards, the philosophy of sacrificing some pawns for one's vision was one that he had very little trouble in prescribing to.

If he had only learned the truth then — if he had only learned what was truly happening then, his plans could have been so much further along than what they were at present.

The Dark Lady's rise seemed imminent and if Peter's plans on that front were to succeed, he really needed to start rushing them along in a hurry.

With a flick of his wand, Peter summoned an ornate mirror that he had not used in many years. Written on the back of the mirror were two simple, yet cryptic words:

_Mr. Bellona._

"Walpurgis." Peter intoned, and the mirror suddenly glowed blue. Peter took a seat on the sofa and pulled towards him the nearest bit of reading material, a rather dark, rather advanced tome on Potions, and read for about twenty minutes before his call was finally answered.

"Pettigrew?"

Peter looked up with a sharp smile that may have leant itself more towards his animagus form than his human one. Staring back at him through the mirror was a soft, aristocratic face, with dark blue eyes framed by golden blonde hair. It was easy for one to get lost in the man's slightly angelic features, even for someone of his age, but the cruel intelligence in those midnight blue eyes told it all, as did the certain sharpness one could spot if they knew what to look for.

"So good to see you, old friend." Peter said with a fond smile. "I have a favour to call in."

* * *

_**June 21, 1992.**_

_**No. 4 Privet Drive.**_

_**6:43 AM.**_

Harry was quite groggy when he awoke the next morning, and found himself in a slight state of confusion. He was rather used to his luxuriously perfect bed in the Slytherin dorms and was rather baffled as to why he was waking up as stiff as a board and sore enough to think that he might have fallen down the stairs the night previous. However, after a few blinks of his emerald eyes, he quickly remembered his circumstances with a verbal groan. Then, as he glanced up to the clock, Harry started. It was past 6:30; the Dursleys had always woken him up at 6:30 AM sharp to make them breakfast.

Confused, Harry sat up and looked around the room, only for his breath to catch in his throat due to absolute terror.

His trunk was gone, as was his owl cage! In a split second, Harry was on his feet and lunging for the door but when he pulled on the handle, the door did not so much as budge and Harry quickly knew that it was locked from the outside. Without thinking, Harry placed his hand on the handle and was halfway through simply willing the door to unlock when he froze with utter terror once more.

If he magicked his way out of his current predicament, he would find himself not only under a violation of the Statute of Secrecy, but quite possibly expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Without conscious thought, Harry reared back as if he had been struck as his breath began to quicken at a rapid rate in unison with the beating of his heart. Harry's mind clouded completely with terror as he realized what had happened.

The Dursleys had locked him in his room! Whether they had been fearful of his retribution for all the years of abuse and neglect or whether they were simply the most spiteful people one could possibly imagine was up for debate, but either way, they had trapped Harry in this room! He tried unsuccessfully to prevent himself from hyperventilating as he quickly took stock of the situation. He fell onto his bed with a silent cry of despair when he realized that the only things the Dursleys had left him were his wand and holster, which he couldn't use for fear of expulsion, and the simple black book from the night previous.

* * *

_**June 21, 1992.**_

_**The Department of Mysteries.**_

_**8:47 PM.**_

Behind one of the thirteen identical doors that led into the depths of the Department of Mysteries, Records sat behind a desk in a room that was warded in ways that would frankly make most curse-breakers cower in terror. Records, was, of course a code name. He, or she, for it was impossible to tell under the black cloak that cast the figure's face into permanent shadow and made noticing any detail of their figure completely impossible, was simply assigned that name due to their role within the DoM. There were thirteen core branches that made up the Department of Mysteries. Among them, one was records. It was this branch's job to keep track of all things ranging from obvious to obscure. In addition, the data collected had to be interpreted and relayed to the other twelve branches of the department. Throughout history, those interpretations had been used to predict major events taking place in the future, stop disasters, exploit the economy and far, far more.

Today, however, Records' job was a bit more monotonous than that. Just as they were concluding, a clearing of a throat caught their attention. When they looked up, they noticed a figure leaning leisurely against the wall. This was the only man or woman who served the department and was not mandated to wear the preposterously secretive attire that the rest of said department frequented. That was because in reality, this man had little to do with the department's inner workings. Well, in actuality, he had everything to do with the department's inner workings, but not directly. It was also essential for this man to be known, for he was Saul Croaker, Voice of the Unspeakables and the Department of Mysteries' bridge to the outside world. In addition, Croaker served as the bridge between the department's branches, often relaying information back and forth and even mediating the balance between said branches.

"What is it, Croaker?" Records asked bluntly. "I've been at this all day and my patience isn't overly high."

Croaker's lips twitched. "Come now, Records, there's no need to be rude. I am here for the mandatory advisement in regards to potential people of interest in the coming years."

Records sighed. Thankfully, Croaker had entered moments after the job had been completed. "There are two," Records told him, "but one of them is far too young to be of any consequence at this time, if historical comparisons hold true. The other is certainly intriguing, but it is unlikely anything will come of them in the avenues we hope for."

Before Croaker could ask any further, Records scribbled two names down on a piece of parchment and passed it over to Croaker. When Saul Croaker read the two names written upon the piece of parchment, his brows rose up further. Still, he asked nothing. Records was not the type in the best of times, and he knew that he would receive a full report when the time was right. Still… his job could be getting a whole lot more interesting in the not-so-distant future.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I do want to address a couple of things mentioned in the reviews in the final chapter of year 1. Before I do so, the response was very positive overall, so I am glad you guys enjoyed it. However, there were a few points that came up a few times that are mildly perplexing to me. **

**Firstly, the people who were saying Harry should not have gone along with Dumbledore's plan just because he was Dumbledore. Frankly, that is not what happened at all. Harry literally had no choice in the matter. If you remember, he protested the decision originally, but once Dumbledore informed him that James had cleared it, there was very little he could do. As the Lord of House Potter, James has the full right to dictate Harry's living situation. If Harry directly disobeyed the order, James could have simply made it mandatory as Lord, and Harry could either follow the order or risk his heirship, which would make him a lot more vulnerable to things like being disinherited. **

**Nextly, I would like to address the three or four people who said that this was canon rehash? Um… how? It's canon rehash because Harry went back to the Dursleys and didn't join Voldemort? I'm sorry, but that logic is… flawed, at best. The confrontation had subtle differences that will be very major in the future and the drama with James and Dumbledore is a major turning point for Harry's character and the plot as a whole. There is also the prophecy and the connection to Emily, which are also both MAJOR points. I have said before that I will stray further away from canon as the story progresses. Some things kind of have to happen in year 1 in order to progress the story. I won't change things for the sake of changing them. I will change them when it suits the plot, which will happen more frequently as the story goes on. By example, the main plot of year 3 isn't the canon one at all. **

**Finally for review responses, for those of you who said the prophecy was not vague enough… well, that is one of multiple stanzas and none of you came even close to interpreting any one line of it correctly, so I would say it's a lot more vague than you realize :)**

**So at last, the rat is out in the open. I actually foreshadowed that flashback scene all the way back in chapter 9 with the brief mention of Harry spotting rats in the tunnel on his way back to Hogwarts, but nobody caught it XD.**

**Next chapter, you will meet Mr. Bellona for the first time, so that should be interesting. The chapter will also end with a line of dialogue that I have been waiting to write since before I even wrote the prologue.**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, June 20th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	20. SS Ch 2: Morbid Thoughts

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story. **

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

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**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 2: Morbid Thoughts.**

* * *

_**June 24, 1992**_

_**No. 4 Privet Drive**_

_**9:38 AM**_

Three days into his forced self-isolation, Harry reflected that maybe, just maybe, he would go completely and truly mental. Luckily for him, the room contained a frankly absurd number of old books that Dudley had discarded over the years. Unfortunately, he had already read a startling number of them in three days, and was becoming starkly aware of the fact that they would not last him terribly long. Sticking with the same train of thought, Harry had absolutely no idea if the Dursleys had plans of ever letting him out of this room. He thought it was probably safe to assume that at the very least, they had absolutely no plans of doing so during the summer holidays. He wondered, not for the first time, trying to ignore the complete and utter terror that was suddenly closing around his heart as he did so, whether or not the Dursleys would let him out of the room to go back to Hogwarts.

Privately, he thought it unlikely, as it would be rather counterproductive if they wanted to avoid his wrath. With that in mind, Harry supposed his best, and perhaps his only hope, was that Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, or somebody else who cared enough to do something about it realized that he did not show up on September 1st and put two and two together. Harry thought Daphne would probably do so. After all, she knew more about his childhood than any of the others, so she certainly had the inside track in terms of mentally connecting the dots.

Not for the first time, Harry was grateful that he allowed his owl, Nemesis, to go hunting before he went to bed that first night. If the bird was as clever as she appeared to be, she would not return to Privet Drive. Harry would survive this, even if he may very well be clinically insane by the end of it. The meager amounts of food and water that Aunt Petunia's bony hands shoved through the installed cat flap once or twice a day were enough to survive. Granted, any progress he had made during this last year in regards to repairing his stunted malnutrition would probably be counteracted by the months he would have to spend in this prison. His owl though, Harry had no doubts the Dursleys would have simply gotten rid of her in a likely less than pleasant way. They were the living embodiment of the absolute peak of human laziness, and Harry had no doubt that they would not put up with having to care for an owl. That had been the one argument Dudley had never won as a child. His parents had always turned down the idea of pets, no matter how big a tantrum he staged or how many alligator tears he cried.

Harry wondered if his friends would get suspicious before September 1st. Even if they did, Harry didn't really see what good it would do. Daphne knew the surnames of his relatives since he had told her after revealing the password of the Speaker's Den, but she did not know the address. If no witch or wizard had ever been able to find this place in ten years, and Daphne had been pretty sure some had tried, he failed to see why that fact would suddenly change. Now that he thought of it, the downside of his owl leaving him was that he wouldn't be able to send messages. Then again, seeing as there were now literal bars on his window, he didn't think any owls would have much success reaching him anyway.

As Harry's eyes fell on the bars, a bubble of righteous hatred welled up within him. Hatred for his father, who had betrayed him and his own word by allowing this to happen, and hatred for Dumbledore, who thought he had the right to meddle in Harry's life because of some titles he had been given nearly fifty years prior. Along with coming up with creative ways to spite and even avenge himself on James and Dumbledore, Harry had spent a large amount of time trying to figure out what he could have done differently. His initial thought had been simply refusing to return here, but his hands had been tied. As Lord of House Potter, James had the full legal right to dictate his living situation. If Harry disobeyed a direct order of his Head of House, James could not immediately remove him as the heir, but it would certainly strengthen his case. Harry needed that heirship. Without it, he was vulnerable to things like being disinherited. Before this summer, Harry would not have thought that a serious possibility, but now… let's just say that he had no trust left in regards to James Potter.

Luckily for him, it was devilishly difficult to remove an heir, as it took a very strong legal case to do so. If that was true, then disinheriting an heir was next to impossible under most circumstances. The heir in question either had to be convicted for a crime worthy of at least five years in Azkaban, commit any of a very small number of specific, universal offences, or directly violate a major component of his or her's family charter. Seeing as Harry had no plans of doing any of those things, he was protected as long as he was the heir. If somebody was disinherited… well, it was not a favourable situation to be thrust into.

For one thing, another family could not simply "adopt you", even if they wanted to. Being disinherited was perhaps the highest dishonour in the magical world. No family wanted to be associated with that, so the chances of anyone offering you a place in their family were practically nonexistent. And even if they did, once disinherited, you could not easily be taken into a new family. There were rather spiteful laws in place to prevent that from happening. For one thing, you needed to be a close blood relative with the family who wanted to adopt you.

Another issue with being a "no-name", was that same dishonour. It applied universally, not just in the Wizengamot. If muggleborns thought the discrimination they experienced at the hands of the pureblood elite was bad, it was playground insults in comparison to what one would experience after being disinherited. Finding a job would be next to impossible, as would be finding or keeping friends. In fact, it would be likely that to some degree, they would be a target for many of the pureblood elite.

So in short, refusing to return to Privet Drive had not been an option.

He supposed he could have gone with Daphne or Tracey, but James could have issued a search warrant for the Greengrass's or Davis's home under the pretense of a kidnapping or any other such nonsense. At that point, it would be less than beneficial to be in the crosshairs of both House Potter, as well as the Chief Warlock, who just so happened to be the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and the most powerful wizard alive. Why wizards had thought giving one man so much power was a good idea in the first place, Harry would never know. He understood that most wizards and witches were blissfully ignorant to muggle history, but seriously? The historical precedents pointing to how bad of an idea that always was were littered through wizarding history as well.

The mere thought of Dumbledore caused Harry's blood to boil with anger once more. Then, Harry forcefully cleared his mind of those thoughts. It would not do to dwell on thoughts like that. If anything would indeed make him go insane, that would probably be it, as much as he wanted to plan devious ways in which he could get back at the both of them.

Sighing in boredom, Harry allowed his emerald eyes to roam over the expansive bookshelves once more, trying to scope out something that sounded even a little bit intriguing. When he found nothing, his eyes betrayed him and subconsciously drifted towards the small, black journal still resting on the small, worn desk in the corner of the room. He had not written to Emily Riddle since that first night back at Privet Drive. It wasn't that he did not want to. As a matter of fact, Harry was positively intrigued by the enigma and had a feeling she was a metaphorical wealth of knowledge. In saying so, Harry did not trust her. Sure, he knew, or was at least as sure as he could be, that she was indeed Emily Riddle. Even knowing that, he did not see any reason why that fact should make him trust her. On the contrary, he was rather suspicious of a person who had seemingly been on track to surpass even Albus Dumbledore, but had then disappeared off the face of the earth for nearly fifty years. Internally, Harry thought the fact that she had suddenly reappeared to correspond with him ominous, but at the same time, oddly typical. Fate seemed to love interfering in his life, so what was one more small interference in the grand scheme of things?

He hesitated as his eyes rested on the book once more. If Privet Drive was so thoroughly hidden from the magical world, likely through the use of these "wards" that Dumbledore, the bastard, had mentioned, then Harry could not see how on earth Emily Riddle could hurt him. What was the worst thing that could happen if he decided to write back to the mysterious enigma?

He was not completely sure he was making the right decision as he gently scooped up the journal and spare pen that had been discarded on the floor Merlin only knew how long ago by Dudley. This time, at least, he took justification in the fact that he had at least pondered and could honestly see no obvious flaws. Of course, he was not naive enough to think that no flaws existed that he could not see, but that was another conversation altogether.

_Emily,_

_Sorry for my lack of correspondence, if it has at all bothered you. _

_To be frank, I don't entirely trust a mysterious person who I know nothing about, least of all a Slytherin. If the house has taught me one thing, it is that nobody in that house is completely trustworthy, and I say that even including myself in that statement._

Harry set down the book and pen and waited. He had no idea how long it would take for Emily Riddle to reply to him. He had no idea where she was, let alone what she was doing, so how could he possibly have any understanding of her schedule? To his surprise, the book glowed a faint, bluish colour less than a minute later. With a furrowed brow, Harry read the pristine handwriting that had replaced his. He couldn't help but note that his handwriting looked sloppy at best next to hers. That would have to be improved at some point.

_Harry,_

_I completely understand your lack of trust in a mysterious stranger. Seeing as you did seem to know of me, I imagine my little disappearing act did not do me any favours in terms of trust. _

_I see no immediate way to win that sort of trust with you, but I think foundations are important in all walks of life. So, in order to establish some foundations in this relationship, how about we start with small things? Nothing personal, just some small, inane questions back and forth?_

Harry crooked a brow as he ran a hand absently through his hair in thought. As long as she did not ask anything personal, he did not see the harm in the exchange.

_That seems agreeable on my end, and it seems that you have graciously given me the chance to start. _

_Well, I'll start with a magic related question since you seemed to be, at least at one point, quite the expert. Do you know of any interesting magic that one can learn on their own without instruction or a wand? _

_Oh, and preferably magic that won't pop up on the Ministry's radar, either?_

Harry did not dare to get his hopes up that such an abstract question would be answered with any degree of proficiency, but a minute later, his brows rose even higher when an answer was indeed given.

_Why of course, there are branches of magic that are solely internal, and these, I feel, would be an adequate answer to your most interesting question. _

_Could I recommend Occlumency, perhaps? And on that note, do you happen to know what Occlumency is, Harry?_

_I do. _he wrote back. _I've actually studied it quite a bit on my own time, but I'm not too far into the practice. I've advanced through the preliminary exercises of Occlumency and I'm now in the phase of actively clearing my mind._

A minute or so delay and then…

_Hmm… how interesting. I must confess, I am rather gifted with the practice. _

_It would be my absolute pleasure to help you along the road, if you would like? I imagine, if you have progressed so far in so little a time, that you have rather sound resources, but I promise you, I know of perfectly safe means that will greatly expedite the process of improving one's Occlumency._

Harry hesitated. The mind was not something to be trifled with and if he did not trust Emily Riddle, this would be a rather bold first step.

Then again, he could always at least hear her out and make his own judgements.

_I admit, Emily, you have piqued my interest. _

_I would love to hear of any unique exercises or techniques you might have that would speed me along in the process of learning Occlumency._

* * *

_**June 26, 1992.**_

_**Potter Manor.**_

_**1:30 PM.**_

At precisely 1:30 PM, the exact time that Charlus had agreed upon, the main Floo of Potter Manor flared and out of the fireplace swept Peter Pettigrew, who quickly brushed off his robes before stepping out to meet and embrace his godson. "Enjoyed the first week of summer?" Peter asked Charlus, smiling at the boy's overeager expression, an expression that had spread across his face the very second that Peter had stepped out of the fireplace.

"It's been nice." Charlus answered honestly. "I spent the day and night before yesterday at the Burrow with Ron and that was a blast." He fixed Peter with a meaningful stare. "I've also been reading a ton, too. Books on Defense, mainly, but some on Charms and Transfiguration too." A pause. "You promised you'd take me to meet my tutor today. Will they tutor me in duelling?"

Peter did not answer at once. "They will tutor you in combat, yes." he responded, choosing his words carefully. Before Charlus could become too excited, Peter held up a hand to forestall any interruptions. "But," he put in, "there are some very strict conditions that you'll have to follow for this to work." Peter winced. "I know I said I wouldn't make you swear any oaths or sign any paperwork, but I didn't pull any punches. I got you the best of the best, but they were… hesitant to work with such a prominent figure. In exchange, as well as the cost that I'll be covering as an early birthday present, they want sureties that you won't go blabbing about your lessons to anyone." Charlus nodded. If he had to sign some paperwork, that wouldn't be a snag. He would happily do whatever it took to improve. As long as the end result was that he would be able to one day stand against the likes of Voldemort, Charlus was willing to fill out all the paperwork in the world.

"Also," Peter continued, feeling as if he were representing James in yet another legal case, "you will not learn their identity. This is non-negotiable, as they are not willing to be known by anybody who they teach." Charlus frowned at that. Normally, he wouldn't trust anybody who wouldn't even show him their identity. With that being said, he trusted his godfather implicitly, so he would go along with Peter's plan. After all, he had never failed him before, and Charlus had no cause to believe that this time would be any different.

"Ok," he agreed, "so do I have to sign any paperwork, or what?"

"You'll take an oath." Peter told him.

Charlus frowned. "Didn't you say oaths can be fooled? You said they're not even viable in court once, didn't you?"

Peter smiled. "Good memory, sport. Yes, I did tell you that, but I was talking about oaths that center around anything open to interpretation. For example, getting somebody to swear they'll tell the truth isn't overly useful. Magic can't force somebody to tell the truth. It can only make them tell you what they think to be the truth." he shrugged. "If they have strong enough mental control, they can even make themselves believe a lie is the truth and tell you that instead." he smiled. "The same would go for something like making a person swear to help you. If they could justify harming you was helpful to you in some way, they could still do it." he shrugged for a second time. "The oath you'll be swearing isn't overly open to interpretation."

Charlus nodded, brow furrowed. He was reasonably sure that he had just kept up with all of that, but it had been a lot of information dumped on him all at once. "So what is the oath I have to swear?"

Peter reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a slip of parchment before clearing his throat and reading aloud. "I, Charlus Ignotus Potter, do hereby swear on my life and magic to never speak of, hint at, or imply in any way, shape or form that I have received instruction in duelling, nor of the occurences within said lessons. Furthermore, I swear on the same conditions that I will never speak of, hint at, or imply in any other way the given code name of my instructor, nor anything I glean about the location of my lessons or the instructor themselves. As magic is my witness."

Charlus furrowed his brows once more. "What if I were to like… let it slip or something?"

Peter shook his head. "Magic works in funny ways, Charlus. Any oath sworn on your magic is tricky that way. It won't technically stop you from revealing the secret, but you'll feel a sort of… pull, anytime you come close to doing so. You can't just accidentally say it while somebody's eavesdropping, you might not know that somebody is watching you, but magic will." he smiled sheepishly. "Don't ask me how that works; I honestly have no idea."

Charlus nodded, holding out his hand for the piece of parchment and swearing the oath in question. Instantly, he felt a sort of pulse within him and then, it was over.

"Splendid!" Peter told him, quickly lighting the slip of parchment on fire with an almost lazy wave of his wand. "Now, the two of us are going to Portkey to a location that you will learn nothing about."

Charlus frowned. "Didn't I just swear I wouldn't reveal it?"

"You did, but your tutor is quite… secretive."

"Do you know who they are?"

Peter smiled a mischievous smile. "Come on, sport, I'm not that irresponsible. I'd never let my godson work with somebody who I didn't know." He winked before reaching into another pocket of his robes and revealing a rather fancy golden key. Charlus blinked; he had honestly never seen an actual key serve as a Portkey before and he found the thought oddly amusing, for reasons that he could not articulate. "Ready?" Peter asked and with a nod, Charlus reached out, taking a firm grip on the key before Peter spoke one last word that sent the two of them into what appeared to be the center of a blurry tornado. "Initiate."

One very rough Portkey ride later, Charlus had managed to land in the center of a very large, very spacious, well lit room. He could honestly say he didn't even have a guess as to what kind of building they could be in. There were no windows. Peter too had landed on his feet, and his godfather's eyes quickly roamed around the room just as Charlus's instincts told him that he and his godfather were not alone. Sure enough, when he let his own eyes travel around the expansive room in which they stood, he did indeed see a figure waiting for them.

"Figure" was the term Charlus used because honestly, he could not tell so much as the gender of the person standing before them. They wore a long, grey, hooded cloak that obscured the entirety of their body. The hood of the cloak cast their face into seemingly impenetrable shadows and they wore black gloves over their hands. A moment later, Charlus may or may not have found out the gender of his instructor. On the one hand, it was given freely, but on the other, he wouldn't be at all surprised if somebody this paranoid used the opposite gender pronouns simply to further insure their anonymity.

"Ah, Mr. Bellona." Peter greeted the figure cheerfully, stepping up towards it and offering his hand, shaking one of the figure's gloved ones in return. "A pleasure, as always. This is my godson, Charlus." Peter gestured for Charlus to step forward and after a moment of hesitation, he did so. The figure seemed to appraise Charlus from under its hood, and Charlus could practically picture them analoging everything about him one could possibly observe for future consideration.

"Good afternoon, Mister Potter." his new instructor said in a smooth voice that certainly sounded male. Again, Charlus was far from convinced that such a thing was not merely another ploy.

"Good afternoon… uh…" he trailed off, not quite knowing how to address the person stood here before him.

The figure let out a smooth, measured chuckle. "Ah yes, I suppose formalities may be difficult in your current situation. You may address me as sir, or as your godfather has done so already. To you, I am Mister Bellona, no more, no less."

Charlus blinked; he had definitely heard the name "Bellona" before, but for the life of him, he could not remember where. "Nice to meet you, sir." Charlus answered, deciding to go with a male pronoun, as this person insisted on it.

"Oh, Mister Potter, I assure you that the pleasure is all mine." The statement was made in a completely level tone of voice, but even in spite of that, Charlus could practically picture a predatory smile spreading wickedly across Mister Bellona's face underneath the hood.

"Well, I would love to stay and watch, but I don't think that would be a super productive use of my time." Peter said briskly. "I'll come and get you in two hours, Charlus. Good luck."

Then, as his godfather exited the room, Charlus was left alone with his mysterious tutor for the first time. For a time, neither of them said anything and then, at last, Mister Bellona spoke. "So, Mister Potter, I am told you wish to learn how to fight?"

Charlus frowned. "Fight or duel; I don't completely understand the difference, sir."

"Duelling is a confined art, Mister Potter. The best duelists are often completely inept in a real world confrontation against a dangerous witch or wizard once the rules are removed from the equation." His instructor seemed to inspect him before uttering his or her next words. "With the enemies that I am sure you have, I would strongly recommend you learn to fight."

Charlus nodded. "Then yes, I'd like to learn to fight."

"Do you truly?" his instructor retorted. "Do not speak the word yes in vain, Mr. Potter. If you wish to learn to fight, you have to actually want to win said fight."

Charlus looked confused. "I don't-" faster than Charlus could move, a wand slid effortlessly into his instructor's hand and before he could so much as think about drawing his own, Charlus felt a wave of agony wash over him as every single one of his muscles felt as if they would collapse in on themselves. He did not scream, but he let out a loud, painstaking groan before the spell was lifted. When he looked up, it was with a look of shock and horror.

"You will not interrupt me." his instructor said in the same, level voice. "Now, as I was saying," they continued as if nothing had just happened, "another difference between fighting and duelling is that in a duel, wishing to outdo your opponent is often enough. In a fight, you need to truly desire victory. You need to be willing to do anything and everything necessary in order to defeat your opponent."

Charlus stood shakily to his feet and waited for his companion to finish before speaking. Part of him was furious and indignant, if not downright terrified that he had just been subjected to such a spell. He could quit right now, walk out, maybe even file charges if he knew who the hell this person was. But, he needed to learn, and he trusted his godfather unconditionally. Peter had told him that this person was the best. If he had to put up with their archaic teaching philosophies, so be it. Granted, it took every bit of resolve Charlus had not to explode with righteous fury, but somehow, he managed.

"But… you can't use anything illegal, surely? Nothing is worth using dark magic for."

Charlus could practically see his tutor's sneer. "There is no such thing as light and dark or good and evil," they said patronizingly, "only power, and the intent with which it is wielded."

Again, Charlus was sure he had heard that somewhere before and for some reason, the quote left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. "But that doesn't make any sense!" Charlus argued. "Of course there is light and dark and good and evil. You can't tell me that Voldemort-" again, Charlus sank to his knees as he was hit with the same spell from earlier, though it was more intense this time. On this instance, when the spell was released, the figure in front of him waited for him to stand before speaking, ignoring the way that Charlus's legs shook and the hateful glare on the young man's face.

"You will accept the philosophy and learn what I have to teach you without complaint or you shall not learn at all." the figure proposed sternly. "Also," the figure noted, as if it was an afterthought, "do not speak She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's name aloud. There is a good reason the rest of the Magical World does not dare to speak it."

Charlus had to bite his tongue hard. He couldn't possibly learn dark magic; he would never use it. But then again, his godfather had called this person "the best of the best", and that was the kind of preparation it would take for him to ever even have the slimmest of chances at standing toe to toe with anyone remotely close to Voldemort's level. He would never use the dark magic, but he supposed he could learn it if he had to, even if the fact made him sick to his stomach. After all, if nothing else, would it not prepare him for what he would one day have to inevitably face?

Hesitantly, very hesitantly, Charlus nodded. "I... understand, Mister Bellona." he answered in the most polite voice he could manage. "So, can we get started?"

* * *

_**July 6, 1992**_

_**Greengrass Manor**_

_**10:53 AM**_

Daphne watched alongside Tracey, who had spent the previous night at the manor, as Blaise Zabini stepped languidly and effortlessly out of the fireplace, efficiently dusting off his robes in the same, fluid motion. When he had finished, he looked up, meeting eyes with both Daphne and Tracey before they fell on Daphne's mother and he swept forward gracefully, inclining his head to her as he did so, pressing his lips softly against her hand.

"Lady Greengrass," he greeted, "it is a distinct pleasure to have been granted access to your marvellous home. Thank you very much for your most generous hospitality."

Celia smiled at Blaise. "Oh, it is my pleasure to welcome such a well-mannered young man into our home, Mister Zabini. I hope you enjoy your time here." With the introductions and formalities out of the way, Celia swept out of the room to do her own work and check on Astoria, who was currently brewing a potion under her mother's tutelage.

Blaise whistled appreciatively as his dark eyes swept the entrance hall of the manor. "Very impressive," he conceded, inclining his head to Daphne with a rare smile, "very impressive indeed."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I don't know what it says about you, Zabini, that the most genuine compliment you've ever paid me centers around how much money my family has."

Blaise actually allowed a soft laugh to ring through the room, a rarity for him, before he stepped forward and attempted to drape an arm across Daphne's shoulders. When her eyes virtually shot sparks, he changed course, realizing that this might not be in his best interest. "Why, Daphne, a compliment is a compliment at the end of the day. You must learn to accept them graciously, as any true and noble lady would do."

"If you're not careful, Zabini, I'll show you all kinds of fun things that any true and noble lady would never dare think of." she warned and Blaise chuckled once more.

"And that, Greengrass, is precisely why I like you." Then, he turned to Tracey. "And then there's you," he told her as a way of greeting, "the girl who is so bubbly that it seems impossible not to like her." Tracey blushed right down to the roots as the three of them made their way outside, deciding on a stroll around the large lake that dominated much of the property, who's surface was currently sparkling invitingly in the bright, welcoming sunlight that streamed down from above.

"So, how have you lovely ladies enjoyed your summer?" Blaise asked conversationally as they paused for a quick break. As he spoke, he deftly snatched a smooth, elegant stone off the ground and casually sent it skipping across the surface of the lake with well-practiced precision.

"It's been nice, for the most part." Daphne told him, an account mimicked much more emphatically by Tracey a few moments later.

Blaise smiled at the two of them. "I'm glad to hear it." he told them genuinely before a small frown adorned his features. "Did Harry not accept the invitation?"

Daphne's eyes narrowed. She would not claim to know a whole lot about the Zabini Heir, but in saying so, she knew he was entirely too observant not to have gleaned at least a bit of Harry's living situation. She was pretty sure the only reason he had broached the topic at all was to try and get any information on that front.

"Why, Zabini, asking questions like that might make me doubt your intelligence, you know?"

Blaise dipped his head, a small, amused smirk playing on his lips. "Ah yes, I should have known word games with you would not have been so easy, Daphne." he admitted. "Let me reword that and ask exactly what all three of us probably know what I really meant to ask. How is Harry doing, and have either of you two heard anything that I may not have?"

Tracey frowned, fidgeting uncomfortably. True to her word, Daphne had told Tracey absolutely nothing of what Harry had told her months earlier. In saying that, she knew that Tracey had put the general puzzle together months ago. If not before, she had most certainly figured it out by observing Harry's reaction to her attempted hug upon their return from the Yule break. Daphne did not fidget uncomfortably. Instead, she allowed a long, worried sigh to escape from her.

"Nothing!" Tracey spoke for her. "I haven't got a single letter from him since the end of term!"

"Nor have I." Daphne added in a voice that she had to try very, very hard to keep calm and modulated. To her relief, she managed it flawlessly, but it had not been easy.

Blaise nodded. "I had suspected as much." he admitted, eying Daphne curiously. "Is it safe to say you know more about Harry's… arrangements than either myself or Tracey?"

Daphne quirked a perfect brow. "What makes you think that, Zabini?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Daphne. Maybe the fact that you held onto him like a lifeline the entire way back to London? Or, maybe the fact that you're the only person he'll let touch him at all?"

There was a long, awkward silence succeeding Blaise's statement, but finally, Daphne broke it with a fair bit of exasperation. "You are entirely too observant, Zabini." she huffed. "Yes, I do, as you seem to have worked out already. Under no circumstances will I be telling anyone of what I know. Harry asked me to keep it private and that is the end of that discussion."

Blaise put up his hands in a show of surrender. "Fair enough." he agreed easily. "I was just wondering if your additional information could lead to a plan of action?"

Daphne blinked. "A plan of action?"

Blaise sighed. "Come on, Greengrass. If he hasn't written a single letter from the environment he's in; one where he's probably dying for something to do, do you really think that's by choice? Do you really think that there's nothing going on?"

Daphne bit her lip. The truth was a resounding no. She had been worried sick over that exact fact for more than a week now. She also didn't want to act hastily, but if she was being completely honest with herself, it had been one of the reasons for inviting the other two available members of their little quartet over to her family home.

But then, Tracey spoke and for so many unsaid reasons that only the two girls knew, it were her words that did it. They were the proverbial nail in the coffin.

"I'm with Blaise on this one, Daphne."

Daphne closed her eyes and centered herself, making sure her thoughts and consequent words would not be clouded by any emotion before she spoke at all. "I don't want to rush." she told the two of them. "I have an idea, but it will take some work and some explaining that I'd rather not do." she sighed. "One week," she told the two of them, "in one week, if things haven't changed, I'll act." She glared at Blaise. "And I will act. I don't want you doing anything reckless or… morally questionable in the meantime."

Blaise merely quirked an eyebrow. He did not smirk or grin, but the corners of his mouth had certainly twitched suggestively. "Why, Daphne, I am insulted. Morally questionable? I will have you know that I am the absolute pinnacle of human morality, thank you very much."

* * *

_**July 12, 1992**_

_**Potter Manor**_

_**8:26 PM**_

Charlus returned from the Burrow in high spirits, as was the norm for him. His father had finally had a day off and he, Charlus and Peter had gone to the Weasley home for what was a dinner as wonderfully delicious as anything and everything that Molly Weasley had ever prepared. Currently, his plan was to take a warm, soothing shower, and then to read one of the books he had ordered on duelling.

When he entered his room, however, Charlus froze upon seeing an unfamiliar, yet unmistakable creature. "Uh… hello." he greeted, not really sure how to react to a foreign house elf waiting for him on his bed. When he spoke, the creature's large, green, tennis ball like eyes widened, and he bounced with positive joviality as he quickly got off Charlus's bed and looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

"Charlus Potter." it breathed, almost as if it could not believe the fact.

Charlus blinked. "Uh… yeah, that's me." a pause. "I… uh, don't mean to be rude or anything, but who are you? I mean, I know you're a house elf, but who's?"

The creature's ears, which had been flapping excitedly mere moments before, suddenly dropped as Charlus finished asking his question. "I am Dobby, sir! Dobby the house elf, as you pointed out, sir." it frowned. "Dobby is sorry, sir, but he can not be telling Charlus Potter which family he serves." He truly did sound sorry, and in retrospect, Charlus really wasn't surprised by that fact. The answer still did make him frown curiously though.

"Uh… ok. Again, I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here, Dobby?"

Dobby was bouncing with energy once more and it appeared to Charlus as though just saying Dobby's name had been a sort of dream come true for the house elf. That thought gave him pause. He had met kids like that before at charity events and such, but was it possible for a house elf to be a fanboy? Or, would they be called a fan elf? He shook his head; that train of thought was just far too confusing and he could not be asked to go down that random and useless rabbit hole.

"Dobby is here to warn Charlus Potter, sir." the elf said urgently. "Charlus Potter must not return to Hogwarts!"

Charlus's mind blanked. "Why would I not be able to go back to Hogwarts?" he asked, confused. "The school's not closed or anything; letters would have been sent out."

Dobby was shaking his head. "The school is still being open, sir, but it is not safe for the great Charlus Potter to attend Hogwarts this year."

That statement prompted a deafening silence to ring throughout the room as the young Gryffindor processed said statement. "Er… Dobby, why would it not be safe for me to go back to Hogwarts?"

"There is a plot, Charlus Potter. There is a very dangerous plot at Hogwarts this year to make most terrible things happen, sir."

Charlus's ears perked. If it was something like last year, he would catch it early. He would let Professor Dumbledore know and they'd put a stop to it right away. "What kind of plot, Dobby?"

Dobby frowned and closed his eyes, as if deep in thought. Then, his ears drooped once more as he shook his head slowly. "Dobby be sorry, Charlus Potter, but Dobby is not being able to say."

Charlus frowned. "Why not, Dobby? If it's dangerous, surely people should know?" Then, he had a second thought. "Hang on. You wouldn't be able to tell me if your masters were the ones behind it?" Charlus frowned deeper still. "Are your masters behind it?"

Dobby hesitated, then, very slowly, he shook his head. "Not-not my masters, sir." he answered, clearly choosing his words very carefully.

Charlus paled as yet another, far less pleasant thought crossed his mind. "Voldemort." he breathed.

Dobby clasped his little hands over his ears and shook his head furiously. "Speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

Charlus scowled. "Professor Dumbledore says the name and he told me I should too." he countered as if that settled all of it. "Is it Voldemort, Dobby? Is she trying to get me killed again?"

Dobby hesitated once more. Then, in the same, measured way he had spoken when asked about his masters, he answered. "Not-not, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir."

Charlus sighed in relief. "Well then, I don't see how anybody could muck about at Hogwarts. Sorry Dobby, but I'm going. You can go now." By this point, Charlus was divided. Either this elf was barmy, or he had been sent by one of the pureblood prats in his year in an attempt to prank him.

Dobby frowned deeply. "Dobby supposes he can't do anything right now to change Charlus Potter's mind." he admitted sadly. "But Charlus Potter won't be getting his mail back, and Dobby will see Charlus Potter again." Then, just as Charlus realized Dobby's pillowcase was considerably full of letters, the elf vanished with a loud crack before Charlus could do so much as move.

* * *

_**July 17, 1992**_

_**No. 4 Privet Drive**_

_**7:14 PM**_

Resounding silence rang through the smallest upstairs bedroom of the Dursley household on a terribly hot Saturday evening not unlike any other. The only sound that permeated the silence of Harry's room were the sounds of cutlery from downstairs. According to Vernon, who had barged into Harry's room less than an hour ago and threatened him to remain quieter than death upon the threat of death itself, the Dursleys were hosting very important dinner guests tonight. Harry welcomed the sounds from downstairs. At this point, more than three weeks into his isolation, Harry could honestly say he was going a bit mental.

He was bored out of his mind, having read quite literally every single book in the small bedroom and quite literally being out of things to do. As a matter of fact, if it had not been for Emily, he was sure he'd have gone completely off his rocker weeks ago. True, he could not have super stimulating conversations with her because those required a deep trust he did not yet have for her, but with that being said, their conversations had been very refreshing and her tips on Occlumency had been mind bogglingly effective.

At the start of the summer, Harry could completely clear his mind after a minute and a half or so of intense concentration, but in that state, he could do little more than think. Now, Harry could clear his mind consistently in under twenty seconds and could even multi-task within that state. True, he had not yet tried to cast magic with a clear mind for obvious reasons but still — that progression should have taken three months or so. Instead, it had been achieved in three weeks and Emily promised that by the end of the summer, Harry would be clearing his mind in mere seconds and would be able to effortlessly multi-task while doing so.

But as boring as his life had been as a whole over the past number of weeks, that was not why Harry's room was so quiet. No, as a matter of fact, his room had been more loud than any time this summer only seconds earlier, even though that statement really didn't say much. No, the reason for the heavy, oppressive silence that coated the air within Harry's room was the statement that the random house elf who apparently was named Dobby had just uttered.

"So," Harry began cautiously, eyes narrowing. His voice was rather hoarse from neglect, but he pushed on valiantly, "you mean to tell me that there is a plot going on at Hogwarts that is going to be extremely dangerous this year?" Dobby nodded urgently. "And, I'm assuming, you can't tell me about the plot since I'm guessing you'd have already done that if you could have?" Dobby nodded again. "Are you allowed to tell me if your masters are behind the plot?" he knew that he couldn't, but if they weren't, he could probably say no.

Dobby hesitated, choosing his words carefully in much the same way he had done in the presence of Charlus nearly a week earlier. Of course, that was a fact that was unknown to the forsaken Potter. "Not-not my masters, sir."

Harry frowned deeply. Not his masters… so, that meant somebody close to them. Or the elf was lying, but Harry was sure he wasn't. He could sniff out lies with shocking proficiency. Assuming that this was not some elaborate prank from Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn, McNair or any of the other rich purebloods who disliked Harry, and he was quite sure it was not, the only way that Dobby could know of said plot was if he had either been asked to help or overheard it being discussed. This, in and of itself, indicated his masters were close with the would-be perpetrators, but there was another, more troubling component too.

If the perpetrators were not close to Dobby's masters, if his masters would not have wanted the secret kept, Dobby could have revealed it freely.

"And as a result," Harry continued without missing a beat, giving away nothing as to his inner thoughts, "you want me not to return to Hogwarts because…"

"Because Harry Potter is too valuable to lose, sir." Dobby squeaked insistently.

Harry scowled bitterly. "I think you're getting me mixed up with my git of a brother, Dobby. Please don't do that in the future; it's frankly insulting at this point."

Dobby shook his head. "No, sir, Dobby means that for both Potters, sir. You are both great, both important, and will both play a role in what is to come."

Harry's eyes narrowed even more. Those words were eerily reminiscent of the ones that Firenze had spoken mere months ago. "And what is to come, Dobby?"

"Terrible things, Harry Potter, terrible things that Dobby cannot say."

Harry sighed. "I think we both know that I'll never agree not to go back to Hogwarts. So, Dobby, I'm curious what you'll use as leverage to try and make me agree?"

Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby was hoping when Harry Potter did not get letters from his friends that he would think nobody cared about him, sir."

Harry almost facepalmed. So this elf had been intercepting his mail. What an utter waste of time. "I don't know if you've noticed, Dobby," Harry said dryly, not even having the energy to explode at the creature for sticking his round nose where it didn't belong, "but no mail can exactly get to me anyway at the moment." As he said this, he gestured vaguely to the bars on his windows. "So, I'm afraid you've wasted your time."

Dobby shot Harry one last, tragic look that immediately told Harry something terrible was about to happen. "Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice, sir." And with that, Dobby bolted for the bedroom door, which magically swung open to admit the elf exit. As Dobby began to bound down the stairs before Harry had done so much as stand, utter terror closing around his heart for so many obvious reasons, only one cognitive thought broke through the haze of depression that had been the vast majority of his mind for the better part of the last month.

'Oh fuck!'

Harry was on his feet in an instant. Instinctively, his wand snapped into his hand but as he bolted from the room after his most unusual home invader, he knew he could not use it. Harry had already figured out exactly what Dobby was trying to do. If he used magic at Privet Drive, according to what Charlotte's mother had said about the Trace, Harry would be completely and utterly screwed. Unless, of course, elf magic worked and showed up differently, but with Harry's typical luck, he doubted it.

When he heard Dobby's footsteps cause the bottom step to creak loudly just as the little devil disappeared out of sight and into the kitchen, Harry didn't think his heart could beat any faster as all sound from the dining room paused. Then, he himself skidded into the kitchen and his heart nearly froze.

There, hovering six or so feet off the ground was the masterpiece of a pudding that Petunia had doubtlessly spent hours working on.

'Oh fuck!'

With a look of genuine regret, Dobby let the pudding fall and in a moment of indecision, trying to figure out if acting or not acting would be in his best interests, Harry allowed the pudding to explode on the floor and for Dobby to vanish loudly. Harry barely noticed as all conversation froze once more in the dining room nearby. His attention was solely focused on the mess in front of him. That was, until he felt his airways constrict as large, purple hands closed painfully around his throat. Then, as he was pressed against the wall by Vernon and he spotted the murderous glint in his uncle's eye, Harry had a thought far too morbid for any eleven, almost twelve-year-old boy, to have.

'This would be a terrible way to die.'

Luckily for him, the biggest surprise of the night had not yet come.

With a shriek of pain, Vernon released Harry, who staggered, gasping for air. A moment later, he looked up to see Vernon round on the four figures gathered in the kitchen entrance.

Only for his uncle to freeze in shock and terror.

Of the four figures, three had their wands drawn and Harry recognized all of them. The one he recognized the most, however, was tall, slim, and had blonde hair, sapphire blue eyes and at present, a positively murderous expression as she glared at Vernon with unshed tears of fury in her eyes.

"Touch him again, and I swear to Merlin and Morgana, I will boil your wife and child over a cauldron and force you to watch!"

'Fuck,' Harry managed to think through his haze of absolute shock as he stared, gaping openly at Daphne Greengrass and her mother, father and sister, 'and I thought I was having morbid thoughts.'

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Well, that was an eventful chapter. That line of Daphne's at the end was written almost six months before I posted the first chapter, so it's nice to have that out in the open at long last.**

**I also thought I'd go back to this chapter before posting it and add some details about inheritance laws to debunk a number of false assumptions some of you have not unreasonably made. **

**In short, you can't just declare a new heir, and disinheriting a current heir is essentially impossible unless said heir screws up royally.**

**Oh, and since I'm sure it was your guys' first thought, Mister Bellona did not use the Cruciatus Curse on Charlus. Instead, he used the Tormensia curse, which had appeared a couple of times in year 1.**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, June 27th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	21. SS Ch 3: An Unexpected Equal

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

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**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

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**Author's Note:**

**Well — this fic is rated M for a reason ladies and gentlemen. This is the first chapter I would consider worthy of the M rating in this story, but it is a rather dark chapter.**

**In light of this, I would like to issue a trigger warning to anybody reading this. This chapter does show scenes containing domestic violence and at least hints at child abuse. I don't think this is super dark and I won't warn you all every time I write a chapter that is a bit edgy seeing as the fic is rated M, but since this is really the first time I am doing it, it seems fair to warn you guys in advance.**

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 3: An Unexpected Equal.**

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_**The Past.**_

_**July 13, 1992.**_

_**Greengrass Manor.**_

_**10:53 PM.**_

Daphne continued the same nervous pacing that she had been using to occupy much of her day. It had been exactly one week since her conversation with Blaise and Tracey out by the lake on her family property, and her promise to Tracey and Blaise had rang through her mind for the majority of the day.

"_One week," she told the two of them, "in one week, if things haven't changed, I'll act."_

Daphne was a lot of things, most of them centering around the traits that defined Slytherin House, but she was a woman of her word if nothing else. She would not back down from a promise she had made to her friends. Especially not one that was so dear to the heart of her second oldest friend, even if Tracey had not explicitly told her it was. She did not have to. Daphne liked to think that she knew Tracey well and she knew that if she did not act, it would be making a mockery of the sins of the past.

At that precise moment, Daphne heard the door nearest to hers close and the soft click that meant her younger sister, Astoria, had locked herself in for the night, likely to get some sleep. Daphne closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She was rather adept at controlling her emotions, but that prowess was about to be put to the test. She knew that if he could see her right now, or, more precisely, know what she was thinking and what she was about to do, Harry would be furious. Sometimes though, people really did not know what was best for them and whether Harry liked it or not, Daphne cared too much to not intervene.

With that thought serving to reinforce the resoluteness that had fallen upon Daphne, she took controlled, measured steps towards her bedroom door and then, once outside of it, down the long, elegant hallway and staircase and eventually into the main family sitting room, where her parents, Celia and Cyrus, were laying comfortably together on the sofa, watching a movie on the muggle television.

That was an odd thing about Daphne's family. They were not pureblood supremacists by any sense of the phrase, but they did like to uphold wizarding tradition. They celebrated Samhain and Yule in the traditional fashion when able, and though the Greengrasses would never look down upon a muggleborn witch or wizard on principle, Daphne could certainly imagine her mother or father sneering at one who blatantly disregarded all the wizarding customs. And that was before they even touched upon the topic of etiquette. Celia was a stickler of the highest level for etiquette.

As a result of these tendencies, the Greengrass family had no qualms whatsoever about exploiting anything in the muggle world as long as it did not derail any of the customs which they cherished. In fact, the Greengrasses owned several major businesses in the muggle world and they had no hesitation whatsoever in watching muggle televisions and films.

When Daphne entered the large, immaculate sitting room, she quickly noticed that of her two parents, it was only her mother who was awake. When her daughter crept near, Celia raised her sapphire eyed stare and met the eyes that looked so very much like hers. "Daphne?" she asked in a soft, quiet voice as not to wake Cyrus.

"Mother," Daphne answered, and the seriousness she felt must have been acutely conveyed through her words, her countenance, or a combination of the two, for as soon as she spoke, Celia pushed herself up as much as she could without forcefully waking Daphne's father.

"What is the matter, Daphne?"

Daphne glanced around the room. "I'm not sure this is the place, Mother." she said, gesturing to her sleeping father.

At this, Celia shot her daughter a rather calculating stare but after gauging her daughter's demeanour, she nodded, slowly and carefully extracting herself from Cyrus and sweeping to her feet. Daphne and Celia walked down several halls to one of the several studies within the manor. It was one of the lesser ones in terms of wards and the like, but no sound would escape from the room and Celia and Daphne were both perfectly satisfied with the arrangement.

"So," Celia said, sounding almost exasperated, "are you going to tell me what else happened at Hogwarts now?"

Daphne had to resist the urge to widen her eyes. "What-what else happened at Hogwarts?"

Celia sighed. "I'll take that as a no, then. Yes, Daphne, I am well aware that you are not telling me everything. You have yet to explain, for example, why the father of one of your best friends is pressing charges against some of the most notable heirs in Magical Britain, and I would assume that is only the tip of the iceberg." Celia smiled at her daughter's look of incredulity. "You are good at your word play, mind games, and all the rest for your age, Daphne. At the same time, you seem to forget who taught you everything you know."

Daphne tried hard not to blush but was not entirely sure that she had succeeded. "Right." she muttered before looking up and meeting her mother's gaze once more, "No, Mother, it isn't about any of that." Celia just shook her head, seeming to be almost amused before she indicated for Daphne to continue speaking. "It's about Harry, Mother; I'm worried about him."

Celia frowned. "Harry? He seemed quite in control of his situation when I met him at the Weitts' Samhain Gala."

Daphne winced. "It's… complicated."

Celia crooked a perfect eyebrow. "Is it? Well then, how about you start from the beginning? I find that's usually a pretty sound way to make sure that you get all of your points across."

Daphne nodded, and with a fair bit of reluctance and guilt for betraying Harry's trust, in a sense, she began to recite everything Harry had told her about the Dursleys. She told her mother of that first day in the dungeons, the tidbits he had let slip throughout the rest of the year, the bits he had purposefully told her near the end of the school year, about Dumbledore's meddling, and finally, about Harry's lack of response to any of his friend's letters and the suspicions of herself, Blaise and Tracey. By the time her tale had been completed, her mother's eyes were practically shooting sparks, and Daphne could suddenly tell exactly why people usually all recoiled from her glares.

"That old codger needs to kick it." her mother muttered, and Daphne actually gaped at her. She was not sure if she had ever seen her mother let slip such a scandalous comment and she was suitably taken aback by the remark. "I need to talk with your father," Celia told her daughter, 'but I promise, Daphne, we will be getting him out soon."

"Mother?" Daphne asked very carefully.

"Yes, Daphne?"

"It's only a vague idea, not really a plan, but I did have a thought."

"Oh, please do continue."

"Well, Harry did say his uncle owned some sort of drill company and that they were based out of Surrey. Surely that's a start, isn't it?"

Daphne nearly recoiled again at the near feral grin that crossed her mother's face. "Oh, Daphne, that is so much more than a start."

* * *

_**July 17, 1992.**_

_**No. 4 Privet Drive.**_

_**6:25 PM.**_

Daphne, wearing a formal but conservative muggle dress and high heeled shoes stepped languidly from the muggle limousine that her family had commandeered for tonight's affairs. Behind her, Astoria climbed out of the vehicle with a bit less grace than her older sister. Astoria was very unaccustomed to wearing heels, and as she was in the midst of a major growth spurt, she was not exactly the most coordinated she had ever been. This was not saying a whole lot, as Daphne frequently accused her little sister of being clumsy. Taking pity on her, Daphne steadied her with a gentle hand on her back. Next, Celia and Cyrus swept from their seats with the grace of royals. Daphne's mother was wearing a dress not unlike her own, with a stunning sapphire necklace that perfectly accentuated and brought out the tone of her eyes. Her father, on the other hand, was wearing an elegant, grey suit with a black tie and simple, black dress shoes.

The plan was very simple. Cyrus, acting through one of their many muggle businesses, had made some inquiries and learned that the only company that matched Harry's description in Surrey was one called Grunnings. And indeed, one of its top executives was a Mister Vernon Dursley. Cyrus had swiftly booked an appointment with the man at his family home under the guise of wishing to potentially invest in or even purchase the business. Of course, if Mister Dursley managed the coup, it would mean some serious bonuses for him. So naturally, the man accepted the meeting with all the haste and excitement of a child on Christmas morning. With that in mind, Cyrus had made sure to look every bit the personification of muggle professionalism while Daphne, Astoria and Celia seemed to simply radiate poise as they followed gracefully in their patriarch's footsteps.

When they reached the door, they did not need to knock. Immediately, they were greeted by three people and Daphne quickly realized that Harry's remarks about the size of his cousin had been drastic understatements as opposed to blatant hyperboles. Daphne, who was rather tall for her age, regardless of gender, was technically taller than him at the moment, but only because of her heeled shoes. His height was not the thing that took her aback, however. The sheer girth of the boy was impossible to miss and he was not exactly chiseled in an athletic sort of way, either. Daphne supposed that if one could somehow get around that, his blue eyes, blonde hair and oddly charming smile could be endearing enough. However, from what she suspected about the boy, she had to try very hard indeed not to glare at him with all the force she could muster. The man was a massive version of his son and the woman was tall, about the same height as Celia, but extremely thin and bony. She was a stark juxtaposition to Celia, who positively radiated beauty, as the two women briefly shook hands.

Then, Daphne's attention was caught when Astoria subtly kicked her in the shin and jerked her head back in the direction of their son. He was gaping, actually gaping at Daphne as though he had never seen such a sight before. Daphne could tell Astoria was trying very hard not to giggle, and Daphne had to resist the urge to borrow Draco Malfoy's trademarked sneer. Daphne was a realistic person. She knew she was pretty and would one day be beautiful if her mother's appearance was any indicator, but seriously? She wasn't a veela and she didn't think her appearance warranted that drastic of a reaction.

When the youngest Dursley had picked his mouth up off of the floor, the Greengrasses were led inside and quickly seated at the table. Daphne would reluctantly admit that the food prepared for them was quite good. That, however, did nothing to distract her from the bubbling fury that welled in the pit of her stomach when Vernon Dursley proudly proclaimed Dudley to be his only son, making it blatantly obvious in the process that no other boy inhabited the house in which they stood. At that moment in time, it took a frankly remarkable amount of self-control on Daphne's part to not remove her wand from her robes, curse the oversized walrus into oblivion, and then quickly find Harry. She did hold back though, for most unfortunately, that was not the plan.

The plan was to go about business as normal for dinner and then for her mother and father to drag the Dursleys into conversation while Daphne slipped off to use the loo. In reality, she would be doing nothing of the sort. Instead, she would be finding Harry, and then they would be leaving this Merlin forsaken place with her friend in tow. That plan, however, did not quite see its conclusion as a loud creak from the stairs caught all of their attention.

Daphne's heart rate quickened; she had a feeling she knew who had created that creak. Then, just as conversation resumed a bit tensely a minute or so later, there was a deafening sound of breaking glass from the kitchen and Vernon Dursley was on his feet. Gone was the charming smile he had done his best to frequent for the duration of their meeting. In its place was an ugly, twisted look of fury, a look that was only accentuated by the vivid purple his face had turned. As he stormed off after the sound, Daphne instinctively got to her feet and followed him, a feeling of impending dread rising within her.

Either her mother, father and sister had the same thought or they simply followed her, but before they knew it, all three of them were entering the kitchen, and Daphne had to try hard not to scream when she saw her friend being pinned up against the wall by his throat. Instantly, she went for her wand, but her father was faster.

"Relashio!"

Vernon Dursley cried out in pain before releasing Harry, who quickly doubled over and clutched at his throat. Vernon turned, likely to yell at whomever had interrupted his cruelty, but he froze at the sight of Cyrus, Celia and Daphne's drawn wands. The next words out of Daphne's mouth, which she was rather proud for coming up with on the spot, as a matter of fact, reduced the colouration of his skin from a vivid purple to a chalky, pale complexion.

"Touch him again and I swear to Merlin and Morgana I will boil your wife and child over a cauldron and force you to watch!"

* * *

As Harry watched Vernon Dursley visibly recoil from the words of his best friend, he quietly took note to never piss off Daphne Greengrass if he could avoid it. Even with literal tears of fury in her eyes, the glare he had spotted before doubling over to catch his breath had been positively withering. Even that did not account for the absolute venom in her words, something that took Harry and Vernon both aback. Harry heard a loud thump as he looked up, finally having caught his breath, to see Vernon lying unconscious on the floor. He imagined that one of Daphne's parents had likely stunned him, since she did not know of that spell as far as Harry was aware. Daphne immediately beeline for Harry, but as she did so, she managed to kick Vernon very forcefully in a not so pleasant area, causing Harry to wince once more.

'Reminder — never piss off Daphne Greengrass.'

Normally, Daphne was rather mindful of Harry's dislike of being touched. Now, however, she seemed to abandon all tact as she plowed into him with the force of an eighteen wheeler and promptly began to squeeze the life out of him. She did not cry, but Harry suspected it was a close call. For the first few moments, he was rather tense in her embrace. Then, very slowly and more than a bit hesitantly, he relaxed and actually wrapped his arms around her in return. It was odd seeing Daphne so out of her element — so uncomposed.

"Harry," she murmured as her parents and sister stood back a bit awkwardly, "are you okay?"

"Fine." he told her. Truthfully, he was not entirely sure about how he felt about Daphne seeing this place, nor him at his absolute weakest, his most vulnerable. That thought would need more analyzing later with the use of Occlumency, but for now, he needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

Gently, Harry managed to extricate himself from Daphne for all of three seconds before she took a vice-like grip on his arm when looping her own through his. Petunia and Dudley were also unconscious now, as Harry rather awkwardly made his way towards the Greengrasses with their eldest daughter on his arm. "Uh… good evening, Lord and Lady Greengrass, Miss Greengrass." Harry greeted, not really knowing what to do in the current situation.

"Are you alright?" was the first question Daphne's mother asked Harry and it was a question that took him a bit aback. He had not been asked that question very often in his nearly twelve years of life, and he honestly had to mull it over.

"I'm better now, I guess." he answered carefully, looking speculatively between Daphne, her mother, her father and the fallen Dursleys. "Er… I'm grateful, especially for your timing, but… what exactly are you doing here?"

"Getting you away from this place!" Daphne said forcefully, and even if Harry had suffered at all from Stockholm Syndrome, he would not have dared argue with her. There was a part of him that was utterly terrified. Cyrus and Celia had just used magic, which would mean the triggering of the Trace. For now, he managed to forestall those thoughts by justifying that their eyewitness accounts would be more than enough to excuse him, but the irrational fear did still fight to be felt. Nothing scared him more than not having magic, not having a way of gaining control.

"Where are all of your things?" Lord Greengrass asked Harry.

"Most of them are locked up in the cupboard under the stairs." he told the man, trying to keep a neutral tone of voice. He could not believe this; he was getting away from the Dursleys. But, he did not forget the veiled threat levelled at him by Dumbledore in his office near the end of his first year at Hogwarts.

_Dumbledore was almost to the door when he paused and turned. "And Harry, please do not try and flee the property this summer. I will know if you leave." _

Harry turned to Daphne before her parents could react to his proclamation. "You did tell them what Dumbledore told me at the end of the year, right?"

"You mean how he blatantly threatened an eleven-year-old?" Daphne bit back. "Yes, Harry, I did and we've got it under control. Now, shut up and go along with it."

Lord Greengrass let out a loud, vocal laugh as Lady Greengrass smiled and Daphne's younger sister seemed to try very hard not to giggle.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he could not help but grin back at Daphne. "Of course, your highness." he responded, prompting Daphne to swat at him playfully, finally seeming to gain a measure of control under the torrent of emotions crashing against her psyche like an incoming tidal wave.

"Prat."

Harry smiled at her. "I've missed you too, Daphne."

* * *

_**Three hours later, at Greengrass Manor...**_

It was a rather long drive to get from Surrey to wherever Greengrass Manor was located. In spite of this, Harry rather enjoyed the drive. The limousine was something he had never experienced before. The fully stocked fridge was quite nice after nothing but scraps and water over the past number of weeks. On their way to the manor, they even stopped at a muggle restaurant for Harry to get some food, something that he was rather grateful for. As a whole, the drive was spent mostly in polite silence, with the odd attempt at small talk lasting for a few minutes.

Finally, the limo pulled through a rather splendid set of gates. Harry thought for sure they had reached the manor proper, but as Daphne told him with an odd smile, they had only crossed the property line. The property, it turned out, was more than vast and seemed to stretch on for ages. They drove down a well kept path that led straight through the rather beautiful forestry and when they finally exited the forests, Harry could have gasped at the sight that greeted them.

They seemed to be atop a marvellous green hill that overlooked a massive valley. In said valley, it appeared, was a brilliant blue lake, acres of land in every direction, and the most magnificent estate that Harry had ever seen.

Some time later, Harry walked into the guest room, which was about the same size as the room he had kept at Weitts Manor. This one overlooked the sparkling lake as opposed to the lush, green lawns. Upon entering, Harry slumped down on the bed and pressed his hands into his temples, forcefully clearing his mind and trying to get a handle on the myriad of thoughts that had been attacking him ever since Daphne's arrival at Privet Drive. Frankly, everything that had just happened seemed like an impossibility, and Harry's mind was going about a million miles an hour in about a million different directions and honestly, it was giving him quite the headache.

"Are you okay?" Daphne asked, gently sitting on the bed beside where he was laying, peering down at him with a look of mild concern.

"I'm fine," Harry told her, "just… a bit overwhelmed, I guess would be the best way of putting it."

A long, pleasant silence stretched between them before Daphne broke it with what Harry considered to be a rather bold question. "Harry… did they — did they hurt you, at all?"

Harry sighed deeply, maintaining a clear mind as he pondered whether or not to answer her question. In the end, he didn't see any reason not to, even though he really wished he could have found one. Daphne had seen Vernon assault him, she had seen the state of his living arrangements and now more than ever, she had quite the accurate understanding of his upbringing, especially after seeing the bars on his bedroom window. He had been sure when she had seen said bars that she would kill the Dursleys, but Cyrus was very strict about it. They would be leaving the Dursleys untouched after he memory charmed the three of them. If Harry was going to randomly disappear, it would not do for the Dursley family to do so at the same time. Dumbledore would already suspect them, and by extension, Harry. They did not need any true crimes attached to his suspicions.

"That was the first time this summer he actually touched me." Harry answered in a rather hollow voice. "I woke up the morning after arriving and was locked in my room with nothing but my wand." He neglected to mention the journal he had been sure to retrieve before leaving. For some reason, he wasn't sure Daphne would approve of his mysterious relationship with the enigmatic Emily Riddle. "I didn't want to use my wand because it would trigger the Trace." then, he paused. "Hang on, I never got a letter from the Ministry. How does that work? Your parents used stunners and the memory charm?"

Daphne frowned. "I honestly have no idea." she answered honestly. "We were ready to appeal directly to the Minister if need be; we would have gotten the charge removed from your record, anyways. But now that you mention it… yeah, that doesn't make any sense at all, does it?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he mused thoughtfully, "it really doesn't." After a long pause, he decided to come out with it. "Thanks, Daphne for… you know?"

She nodded. "Anytime, Harry. I knew it was bad — I knew it was worse than you were letting on, even."

Harry closed his eyes. "I don't like to talk about it." he told her honestly and with no emotion. "I… honestly don't like the thought that you've seen me there."

Daphne levelled him with the most pensive and calculating look he had ever seen on her face. It was positively odd seeing it on the face of a twelve-year-old girl. "Anytime that changes, let me know, will you?" she paused. "I have a feeling someone else may want to talk to you about it tomorrow."

"I'm grateful for your parents, Daphne, but I'm not-"

"Not my parents, Harry."

Harry blinked. "Who then?"

Daphne gave him a long, studying look. "Blaise and Tracey are coming over before you leave." she answered cryptically.

Harry tensed. "Leave?"

"I did tell you that we planned this, right? And that I told my parents about Dumbledore threatening you?"

Harry relaxed at once. "Oh, yeah… sorry."

"You didn't think we'd send you back to that hellhole after tonight?"

Harry's eyes darkened and for a second, Daphne thought she may have touched on something too personal. "It's… not in my nature to accept things going as well as they just did." Harry answered after a time. "There's a part of me that still expects to wake up there."

Daphne hesitated before reaching over and giving Harry's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're never going back, Harry. I promise."

Harry had to forcefully discard the memory of James Potter saying something very similar months earlier. Once he managed that, there was another long, comfortable silence between the two friends before Harry broke it. "What's the plan then, Daphne? Where is it that I'm going?"

"Weitts Manor." she answered to Harry's surprise. "We can still spend tons of time together; the same goes for Tracey and Blaise, but it gets you away from us and somewhere Dumbledore can't touch you."

Harry quirked a brow. "How can't he touch me while I'm there?"

"Well, for one thing, let's just say he wouldn't suspect the Weitts family of taking you in. And for another," she paused, "let's just say Dumbledore leaves them well enough alone." That was an extremely interesting tidbit and unbidden, the memory of Lady Weitts speaking about Dumbledore from last November flowed easily to the forefront of his mind.

_Something… odd flashed in Lady Weitts's eyes, but a split second later, it was gone, and Harry was not even sure he had seen it at all. "No wizard alive has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore." she said a bit darkly. It sounded quite significant somehow._

"That's… nice of them." Harry answered honestly, rather surprised the Weitts would go out of their way to take him in. Perhaps they were closer with the Greengrasses than he had even realized. Or, perhaps Charlotte had been right all those months ago when she told him that her mother liked him.

Daphne shrugged as she stood from her seat on the bed. "Well, I know you well enough by now to know when you need time to think." she fixed him with a stare. "Just… if you need me, come and find me, ok? And tomorrow… give her a chance, please." Harry had no idea what those final cryptic words meant, and as Daphne exited the room, closing the door quietly behind her, he was not given the opportunity to find out.

* * *

_**July 18, 1992.**_

_**Greengrass Manor.**_

_**9:37 AM.**_

When Tracey arrived the next morning, Harry had the strong impression that she wanted to do nothing more than fling herself at him in much the same way Daphne had done last night at Privet Drive. To Harry's mild relief, she restrained herself and minutes later, when Blaise effortlessly and elegantly stepped from the flames, he did not look as if the thought had ever crossed his mind.

"A pleasure to reacquaint, my friend." Blaise told Harry with a small smirk, holding out his hand as if meeting for the first time.

Harry took it with a roll of his eyes, but he played along anyways. "Indeed it is. I trust you are well, after all these years apart?"

"Oh, Harry, positively splendid, my dear man." Daphne was looking exasperated and Tracey was visibly trying not to laugh as Harry and Blaise finished their exchange and the four friends made their way out onto the expansive grounds of Greengrass Manor. They did not do much, simply walked and talked for what felt like hours before finally, the four of them made to take seats near the lake.

"I should go and get my bag." Daphne said with a sigh, glaring at Harry. "I may as well make a start on some of that homework while Merlin over here is present to help me with it."

As Daphne stood, Blaise stood to join her in a single, fluid motion. When Daphne crooked an eyebrow, Blaise merely shrugged. "It would be most rude of me to leave a lady like you alone for such a long walk, Miss Greengrass. Would you do me the honour of allowing me to escort you back towards your lovely home?"

Daphne sighed. "If you must." she told him, looping her arm through his as the two of them made their way towards the manor.

Harry waited about two minutes before he broke the silence. "I'll admit, Tracey, that I didn't expect it to be you who wanted to talk to me."

Tracey's eyes widened. "How did you-"

Harry rolled his own eyes in return. "Come on, Tracey. That little performance was well done, don't get me wrong. Daphne and Blaise could probably be actors, but there were two gaping holes in your plan." he raised a finger. "One, Daphne could have just called a house elf." Tracey blushed at this, looking a bit put off. "Two," he continued, raising a second finger as he spoke, "Daphne said that somebody would want to talk to me last night and hinted it was either you or Blaise." he looked pointedly at Tracey. "Seeing as her last words before leaving my room last night were 'give her a chance, please', I thought it was safe to assume it was you."

Tracey looked positively astonished but she regained her composure in an impressively short amount of time. "You… figured all of that out that quickly?" Harry nodded. Tracey just shook her head. "You blow my mind sometimes, you know that?"

Harry laughed softly as the warm summer's breeze rustled his hair. "I try, Tracey, I try." a pause. "So, what is it you wanted to talk about?" Both of them knew the answer to that question and likewise, both of them knew full well that the other one was aware as well. But Harry had to kickstart this conversation somehow, even if he was unsure if he would let it go anywhere at all.

Tracey shifted to face him, sea green eyes finding emerald. "I know you won't want to talk about your relatives with me," she started, not even pausing when Harry's expression instantly became more closed off, "and you don't have to, at least not today, but I think you might want to eventually."

Harry blinked. "You… what?"

Tracey peered curiously at Harry. "Can you promise me, Harry, not to tell anybody about what you hear in the next however many minutes this takes?" Harry frowned but nodded. Tracey sighed. "I understand you, Harry. I understand you more than anybody else does; even Daphne, as much as she wants to try."

Harry's frown deepened. "That is a… very bold statement, Tracey. I don't think-"

"Don't think I do? Don't see why anything I say is relevant to you or why you would ever want to share it with the fourth, tagalong member of the group?" Harry winced at her bluntness. "It's ok, Harry." she reassured. "I'm not as smart as Daphne or Blaise when it comes to politics and magic and all of the rest. You don't have to apologize for the fact that you talk to them more than you talk to me. What I am better at than both of them is feelings, and in your case, I understand you better than either of them do. I also know that right now, you have no interest at all in talking about your home life." She paused. "But, I also know better than anybody that it gets a lot easier once you start talking about it."

Harry's eyes widened as the dots came together. He would have never, not in a million years suspected that Tracey… "Tracey, you don't have to tell me-"

"Shh," she told him, lifting a hand for silence, "I want to tell you, Harry, because it will prove my point about it getting easier and because I want you to understand why I'd like for you to talk to me. It doesn't have to be today but please, can you just hear me out and promise not to interrupt or go blabbing?" she mock glared at him. "And don't call me a hypocrite because I can't keep a secret!"

Harry managed a very weak, very small smile in spite of himself. "Alright, Tracey, if you insist." and with those words, Tracey took a deep, readying breath before diving into a story Harry could have never, not in his wildest dreams, have expected.

* * *

_**The Past.**_

_**June 23, 1978.**_

_**A Nightclub in London.**_

_**11:32 PM.**_

Eighteen-year-old Julie Davis reveled in the music as she twirled in a most satisfying way on the dance floor, joining in the chorus of laughter that was shared by Annabel and some of her other close friends. Just hours earlier, they had arrived back in London after completing their seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Julie would miss the view from her dormitory situated high up in Ravenclaw Tower, but she was excited to move onto the next chapter of her life. For now though, she and her friends had decided to pitch some money together and put in for a hotel in London so they could spend the night celebrating the turning of a page in their lives.

When the current song ended, Julie left her friends to go get another drink. She was not an alcoholic by any means. As a matter of fact, this was only the third time in her life she had indulged at all, but tonight, she was throwing all restraint to the wayside. After getting yet another glass, Julie tried to weave her way back to her friends through the crowd of strangers in the nightclub. As she made to slip past a dancing couple, a tall, well built man came hurrying through the crowd and though Julie's eyes had time to widen in unison with the stranger's, neither of them could do anything as they slammed into one another and Julie's drink promptly fell from her hands, the glass shattering on the floor.

"Fuck!" the man cursed, steadying the smaller girl easily enough. "Shit, my bad, I wasn't paying attention. Fuck, I'm an idiot; can I buy you another drink?"

Julie, who was still a bit flustered, took a small step back and looked at the man more closely. He was quite tall and well muscled as she had first observed, and he had short cropped blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was handsome, but in a roguish sort of way. "Um… sure, if you'd like. You don't have to though; I wasn't watching where I was going either, so-"

"Nah, don't worry about it." the man said, offering her a smile as he waved for her to follow him back up to the bar. "Not much you could've done if you ran into me, but I need to watch out for pretty little things like you." Julie blushed as the man shot her a sort of conspiratorial wink before purchasing her a drink, and one for himself too.

"Thank you." she said graciously, smiling happily up at him. She had always been quite an upbeat person. Many men and women would've been upset with this man, even after he had taken the time to buy them a drink in compensation for his carelessness. Julie, however, was just grateful he had been so generous. "It really wasn't necessary."

"Nah, don't worry about it." he said again, waving a hand airily. "I'd have bought you a drink even without running into you." he winked again and Julie found herself blushing from more than just the alcohol. "What's your name by the way, cutie?"

Still blushing down to the roots, Julie extended the hand that was not occupied with her drink. "Julie Davis." she told him. "It's nice to meet you."

The man took her hand in his slightly more calloused one and shook. "Davis… Davis," he muttered before shrugging, "can't say I recognize the name, but I'll be sure to recognize you, Julie. The name's Norwich — Josh Norwich." he smiled at her before looking out over the crowd. Julie wasn't really surprised he hadn't heard of her family. Her parents were both muggles, but they lived quite far from London. "Were you looking for someone when I… uh, ran into you?" he asked a bit awkwardly.

"Yes, my friends." Julie said after taking a sip of her drink, "I've no idea where they've gotten off to now though."

Josh winked. "I can help you find them, if you want?"

Julie shook her head. "No, it's ok." she said. "You don't have to-"

"Aww, come on, it'd be fun." he fluttered his eyelids suggestively in a way that Julie was pretty sure should've been her job according to most gender stereotypes, and she could not help but giggle. Josh seemed a very hard guy not to like and the alcohol was making his offer of companionship sound rather attractive.

"If you're sure, Josh."

"Oh, Julie, trust me, I'm sure."

They spent a fair bit of time roaming through the crowded nightclub looking for Julie's friends, but they never did quite manage to find them. Julie was mildly annoyed, but at the same time, they had all been pretty drunk, so part of her also wasn't completely sure if she wanted to know where they'd gotten off to. After her search ended in vain, Julie decided to simply spend time with Josh. He was quite the jokester, as it turned out, and his playful flirting had her flushing head to toe every few seconds. That fact was exacerbated by the alcohol that he kept buying her. So much so, in fact, that within a few hours, Josh had to practically carry Julie to the taxi he had called for her that was set to take her back to the hotel.

"You want me to come and give you a hand?" he asked, his speech just barely slurred.

Normally, Julie probably would have said no, but as she had been drinking, it was her first thought, not her measured one that came out of her mouth. "Please?"

Josh laughed openly as he helped buckle her in before sliding a bit clumsily into the seat next to her. Neither of them said a whole lot during the taxi ride, for Julie had just allowed her head to droop onto Josh's shoulder and she was pretty sure she had briefly fallen asleep on the way there.

When they entered her hotel room some twenty minutes later, by which time Julie was very grateful for Josh's help because frankly, she was rather unsure if she'd have even made it there otherwise, they found that none of her friends had yet arrived. As it had turned out, they had all gone to a party of some guys they had met while Julie was off buying drinks, but Julie would not find out about that fact until quite a bit later.

Josh shrugged. "Weird, well, I s'pose this is it, cutie." he said, slurring his words only a little bit as he smiled while helping Julie to the bed. The next words out of Julie's mouth were the most surprising she had ever spoken, but in saying so, they were the words that would change her life forever.

"Stay with me?"

Josh only paused for a moment but when he grinned, it was a grin worthy of the cat who'd caught the canary. "Sure thing, cutie."

* * *

_**June 18, 1980.**_

_**Chelsea and Westminster Hospital.**_

_**4:46 AM.**_

As Julie sighed with relief upon the bearing of her new child, Tracey, she could not help but allow a weak, tired smile to cross her face. It had been a roller coaster since she'd met Josh nearly two years ago to the day. Since that fateful night in the nightclub, she and Josh had become extremely close and now, they had even conceived a child. Still, Julie felt a prickle of guilt permeate the seemingly unshakable bubble of euphoria that currently seemed to be her psyche. She still had not told Josh that she was a witch. She had an odd, foreboding feeling that if she came out with that revelation, the desired outcome would not be overly positive. Josh was rather traditional in many ways. He was not a huge fan of change in the world and if she just dropped the fact that she was a witch on his head, she was positively terrified how he might react.

Now, as she gingerly cradled her new born daughter in her arms, Julie wondered exactly how she could ever do that. After the birthing of their first child, the risk was far greater. If he reacted negatively, it could not only mean bad news for her, but for the bundle of life that she now held protectively against her body, the bundle which she already loved and cherished more than anything in the world.

* * *

_**November 11, 1983.**_

_**The Norwich Household. **_

_**7:14 PM.**_

Julie sat with Josh as they watched Tracey run around the living room, giggling happily as she gave pursuit to the laser pointer that Josh was casually pointing this way and that. Tracey was a very bubbly, energetic girl, even for her age. Since her birth, she had been rather unfond of the idea of sleep, and when she was awake, she seemed to make it her mission in life to be as active as possible. Julie found this exhausting for certain, but in saying so, there was something undeniably endearing about that habit of Tracey's. That habit, however, often gave Julie and Josh near heart attacks.

None more so than now, when Tracey made to turn on a dime and chase the light of the laser pointer. As she did so, she lost her balance and fell, and her momentum was sending her straight towards the wall headfirst. Before Julie or Josh could do so much as move, Tracey's body spun like a cork in a complete one-eighty, allowing only her feet to slam into the wall. Sure, this still sparked some tears from their three-year-old daughter, but it was a much, much better outcome than what it could have been.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on which angle Julie took on the matter, it appeared as if Tracey had just cast her first bit of accidental magic. On one hand, she was beyond proud and it was absolutely exhilarating to know that her daughter would one day walk the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. On another, the look of sheer shock and astonishment on Josh's face meant one thing and one thing only.

It was time to explain a potentially unpleasant truth — one she had hidden from him for more than five years.

* * *

_**November 12, 1983.**_

_**London, England.**_

_**3:17 AM.**_

Josh Norwich stumbled drunkenly out of the bar in which he had spent much of his night doing his utmost best to drink his problems away. At present, he was positively sloshed, but on another hand, the problems that had arisen in the past number of hours, rather life changing problems, if he was being honest, did not seem to have gone away. His wife was a witch. What the fuck was going on? Witchcraft was something that he had been taught to fear from an early age. Witches were dangerous. He hadn't exactly followed in the footsteps of his parents in regards to religion, but he did agree with many of the principles they had instilled upon him in regards to sorcery.

Nothing good could come of such a thing and now his wife and daughter were fucking witches?

"Fuck!" he slurred, not really knowing how else to cope with this information.

He didn't know what to think. He had nothing but positive things to say about his wife as a whole but if she was a witch, what was he to do? He could not have her using magic, he would not stand for it. Their daughter neither — no, neither of them would be using magic, he decided. He had no desire to leave Julie, at least not yet. Truthfully, she had started out as yet another conquest, but she had become an integral part of his life. Now, he knew he could never trust her, but he could still keep a patchy relationship going for the benefit of them both, and their daughter, perhaps.

* * *

_**August 15, 1984.**_

_**The Norwich Household.**_

_**9:55 PM.**_

Julie watched the father of her daughter warily as he unsteadily set his bottle of beer down on the table. Frankly, Julie was miserable. She did not know what to think anymore. The day after he'd apparently gone out on a bender, a very sour, very hungover Josh Norwich had returned to the house and laid down the law in no uncertain terms. They would stay together for the sake of their daughter but the trust that had been forged between them was damaged severely. In addition, he would leave immediately if she performed any magic. As terrible as all of that had seemed, nothing could have prepared Julie for what he said next. Their daughter would most certainly not be going to any school where some crackpot old wizard would teach her magic tricks. Worse still, if they could do so, they would condition Tracey never to use magic at all.

If that hadn't been enough, both of Julie's parents had died in a plane crash less than three months earlier, which left her emotionally torn apart for weeks. Quite simply, Julie Davis had been experiencing the worst year of her life and she had no reason to think it would improve anytime soon. If she were anyone else, all of this may have broken her but to the best of her abilities, Julie still maintained her upbeat, bubbly persona and way of life. Privately, she thought it may very well be the only thing that had gotten her through these most trying of times.

There was a large part of Julie that wanted to get up and leave right there. However, she knew that would never work. She did not want Tracey to grow up without a father, a fact that had been cast in sharp relief when she had lost her own. And Josh, for all of his faults, was the one bringing in the majority of the money in the household. London was not cheap, and Julie was unsure whether she could, at present, provide for herself and her daughter. There was also the problem of custody. She wasn't sure if Josh would attempt to expose the wizarding world over a petty guardianship case, but it was a risk she didn't want to take, even though logically, the Ministry would of course have smoothed it all over.

Little did Julie Davis know that everything was about to change.

Tracey, who was playing in the corner, chose that exact moment to stumble, the fairly clumsy child she was, and bump hard into the lamp, sending it careening to the floor where it promptly broke into two, even halves. Josh immediately stumbled to his feet, cursing and tripping over his drunken self as he made his way towards Tracey, yelling at her angrily.

This was another problem with Josh. He had been a rather indulgent man in the best of times and since the revelation of a world of magic, he had, in Julie's estimation, turned into a sort of raging alcoholic. It was this that had Julie on her feet. She did not think Josh would hurt Tracey, but she also did not want him screaming at her over something accidental. But then, before he could even get close to her, the lamp suddenly began to piece itself back together before slowly, ever so slowly, it drifted back up off the floor and back onto the small table in which it had stood.

Ringing silence was all that existed in the Davis's sitting room until, with a muffled cry, Josh stepped forward and grabbed Tracey by the arms hard enough for the little girl to yell out in pain.

"Josh!" Julie screamed, even as the man muttered drunkenly about stamping the magic out of their daughter. Julie stepped up behind Josh, reaching up and raking her nails across his neck in order to distract him. The good news was that it worked. He did indeed let go of Tracey as red gouges blossomed on the surface of his skin. The not-so-good part, unfortunately, was when he whirled around and brought his hand up, slamming the back of it hard into Julie's face and causing her to fall flat onto the floor as blood began to spout out of her nose.

Tracey was crying again as Josh bent over Julie, his hot, laboured breath that smelled strongly of alcohol tickling her face. "I said no fuckin' magic!" he slurred. "I don' give a shit if it's you or her. No fuckin' magic means no fuckin' magic, you hear?" All Julie could do was nod mutely as Josh stumbled off to the restroom, mercifully giving Julie enough time to grab her purse, grab Tracey, and get the hell out of the house.

* * *

_**August 16, 1984.**_

_**A London Cafe. **_

_**1:13 PM.**_

Tracey waited eagerly for her mummy to finish the small salad in front of her. She had been oddly quiet today; even four-year-old Tracey had managed to pick up on that and there was a rather tragic, almost depressed air around her that all older and wiser than Tracey picked up on instantly. A few minutes later, her mother finished and they stepped up to pay just as a family of four queued in behind them. Tracey peered at them with young, curious eyes. The couple were both a lot taller than her mummy and she loved the woman's pretty hair. They had two little girls with them, two. One of them was a lot smaller than Tracey, cradled in the arms of the father whereas the other was probably about Tracey's age, but a bit taller and she had the same, pretty hair as her mother whose hand she was holding.

From beside her, Tracey's mother cursed under her breath as she rifled through her purse, trying to find the correct coins to pay. If Tracey was a bit older and more observant, perhaps she'd have noticed that her mother seemed flustered, almost as if she could not pay and was stalling for time. In a most hilariously ironic and ill timed display, Tracey spoke up right then and there.

"Mummy? Can we get ice cream from the stand?"

Tracey saw the frown on her mother's face but failed to recognize the sadness in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Tracey, but mummy doesn't have money for that right now." Then, to their surprise, a clearing of a throat from behind them caught Julie and Tracey's attention and Julie flushed as she looked upon the man and woman, who were quite clearly the highest of class and likely impatient for the rabble to hurry up. "Oh," Julie said with a blush, trying in vain to find more coins in her purse that just weren't there, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hold you up."

To her great surprise, the woman smiled easily at her. "No, no, that wasn't it at all. I was just going to ask you if you'd allow us to pay for your meal and take you and your daughter out for the ice cream that she seems to want so badly?"

Julie's jaw actually fell agape just as Tracey visibly perked up upon hearing the words "ice cream" uttered.

"You-you're quite sure?" Julie asked, not wanting to blow the golden opportunity but also failing to see what these people's game was.

The woman nodded. "Of course," she said, stepping up to the counter and sweeping the money Julie had placed there into her hand before handing it back to the woman, replacing it with notes of her own, "it would be our pleasure." she smiled at Julie and held out her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, as a matter of fact. My name is Celia and my husband's name is Cyrus. My eldest daughter is Daphne and my youngest is Astoria."

"That's a really pretty name!" Tracey spoke up, smiling at Daphne who giggled in return.

"What's yours?" the taller girl asked, eyeing the strawberry blonde in front of her with unmasked curiosity.

"Tracey." Tracey answered excitedly, positively bouncing at meeting a new friend.

Daphne giggled. "That's a nice name, but I like mine better."

* * *

_**October 18, 1984.**_

_**The Norwich Household.**_

_**8:03 PM.**_

It had been a number of weeks until Julie and Tracey had returned back home. They had spent as much time in hotels as possible, using much of the money that was saved in the family's accounts. They did eventually have to return though, and the months since the return had been extremely tense. By this point, Julie and Josh barely spoke to one another at all, and even little Tracey knew something was off. Even she was rather skittish around her father.

The one major improvement in Tracey's life was Daphne. Since they had met up in the cafe, the two girls had been allowed to spend a considerable amount of time together. Tracey and her mother had been present during a bout of accidental magic from Daphne and when the Greengrasses hastily tried to explain it away, Julie had simply smiled and explained that both her and Tracey were witches as well. Since then, the relationship between Daphne and Tracey had become a lot closer. She had been told by her mother never to mention magic or that Daphne and her family were "witches", but Tracey had been allowed to go over to the Greengrasses quite frequently. As a matter of fact, the Greengrasses would arrive at their home to pick up Tracey for their planned sleepover the very next morning.

That night, Tracey, Josh and Julie were eating a rather late dinner. As usual, Josh had alcohol in front of him and as usual, he had become exceptionally tipsy. This fact made itself clear only minutes into the meal when Josh made to stand and bumped the table rather hard, sending scalding hot coffee from Julie's cup cascading everywhere. Unfortunately, most of it doused Tracey, who cried out in immediate pain as rather horrid looking burns made themselves present on her skin.

"Josh!" Julie cried in outrage, sweeping to her feet.

"Fuck!" Josh cursed. To the man's credit, he did seem to be trying to make a move towards the cold cloth but to his discredit, the burns on Tracey's body were very clearly too severe to be quelled by a bit of cool water. It was in that moment that with her daughter crying in front of her, Julie did the bravest thing she had ever done in her life and made a choice that would change the life of her daughter forever.

"Episkey." she incanted, sliding her wand from her sleeve and aiming it at Tracey, who almost immediately quieted as her burns vanished. Josh, on the other hand, positively swelled with righteous fury as he turned on Julie, reaching out to grab her. Unfortunately for him, there was a flash of white light and he was sent skidding backwards across the floor, a look of absolute fury on his face. Before he could react, Julie scooped up Tracey and made her way up the stairs to the home's second level as fast as possible. Once there, she quickly bolted into the bedroom and locked the door, making a mad dash to pack everything she could get her hands on, ignoring her daughter's constant string of questions as she did so. Finally, after about five minutes packing and with a heart rate of around one-hundred-eighty beats per minute, Julie told Tracey to get behind her as they exited the room.

Unfortunately, Julie's hands were rather full and as a result, she could not hold her wand. As soon as the door was opened, Julie was grabbed forcefully by the throat and slammed hard against the wall. The hastily packed bags in her arms fell in a pile at her feet as she began to struggle to free herself. Tracey was screaming and crying, but Julie did not hear her as she felt Josh's hot breath on her face. Then, she did the only thing she could when hopelessly outmatched.

She kicked him where it hurt. Then, as Josh staggered back, Julie attempted to get around him and to her daughter but unfortunately, she never made it. In a last ditch effort to stamp out the magic in his family, Josh lunged for Julie without much intention. He slammed into her forcefully and she fell backwards — right down the stairs, head first.

There were several loud thuds as she careened down the stairs and the cries of panic from Tracey and terrified cursing of Josh Norwich mixed in. Then, when Julie's fall had ended, both Tracey and Josh rushed towards her for very different reasons.

Tracey wanted so badly to make sure that her mother was okay whereas Josh needed to make sure he wasn't about to go to jail for manslaughter. When the two of them reached the bottom and Josh knelt over Julie, he paled almost at once when there was no pulse present at her throat.

* * *

_**The Present.**_

_**July 18, 1992.**_

_**Greengrass Manor.**_

_**9:53 AM.**_

In a rare moment, Harry experienced a complete loss of his formidable self-control, as he gaped openly at Tracey as his eyes did their best to bulge out of his head. "What happened then?" He asked incredulously.

Tracey shrugged as if it was of no consequence. "He left; ran for his life, I imagine. The Greengrasses found me and Mum the next morning and pieced together what had happened. They got in touch with Mum's best friend from Hogwarts, Annabel, a half blood married to a muggleborn, and I've lived with her and her husband, Daniel ever since." Tracey smiled fondly in spite of the story. "I love them — I honestly love them."

Harry did not even know how to respond to any of what he had just been told. "Your… father, ugh! I don't even want to call the bastard that — what happened to him?"

Tracey shrugged. "He was sent to prison for murder." Harry's eyes widened before a rather morbid realization set in. By the law, it should have only been manslaughter, but if the Greengrasses had pulled some strings — possibly with some magic involved…

"Fuck, Tracey…" Harry muttered, not knowing anything else to say. "How can you just… say all that?"

She offered him a sad smile. "It still isn't pleasant." she said honestly. "I wish I'd have got to know mum when I was older than five and it hurts to think about it but it does get a lot easier." she shot him a rather pointed look. "I wouldn't talk about it for a couple of years until my step parents got me a therapist. Once I started talking about it, it got easier. He once told me that telling is accepting." she shrugged. "Like I said, the pain never goes away, but it lessens with time."

"I would've never guessed any of that about you." Harry muttered, and it was true. In his estimation, Tracey was far too bubbly, far too optimistic for that horrible reality to have been her childhood.

"It was a long time ago." she reminded him. "I can barely remember most of that except for the final night. A lot of it was told to me by Annabel, since she kept in contact with Mum until the end." Tracey sighed. "I've grown up a lot since then, but part of it is talking about it and not hiding from it." she was giving Harry a long, searching glance. Harry noticed that Tracey definitely looked down, as if the story had taken a lot out of her, but she was still very much in control. "Do you understand now why I think I can understand you better than other people?" Harry nodded reluctantly. "It's different, I know — our circumstances. But if my guesses are true — there are definitely similarities too." she reached out and took his hand briefly, giving it a quick squeeze. Harry did not have the energy to even think of tensing or flinching away. "Anytime you need me, Harry, I'm here, ok?"

There was a long pause in which Harry watched the small, distant figures of Blaise and Daphne slowly make their approach from far away. "Thank you, Tracey," he said quietly, having no other words to speak, "I'll… keep that in mind, I promise.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**So this was a heavy chapter, but it's one I've been planning for a long time. I see so many fics, Slytherin Harry ones in particular, utilize Tracey as a friend of Harry's, but she is almost always lost in the shuffle. Not only does she never have a purpose, but we rarely learn anything about her. Seriously, I can only think of two Slytherin Harry series/stories in which we learn anything about Tracey, and in one of them, it is VERY LITTLE. In short, I wanted to break that trend with this story and I thought she could be useful in the role I have portrayed her in.**

**There won't be a chapter this dark again for a while, so no worries about trigger warnings and such, but I hope you all enjoyed the chapter in spite of the change in tone.**

**Speaking of the contents of the chapter, please don't come after me in the reviews for letting the Dursleys off easy. I won't spoil anything, but hint hint, nudge nudge, their time will come. The same can be said for the other characters who's heads you've been calling for. Patience is a virtue, after all.**

**Also, a shoutout to Darth from my Discord server for pointing out that degrees of murder are not a thing in the UK. Residing in Canada and also being aware of the American system, I had always assumed that was fairly universal among major first world countries. An additional shoutout to Discord member Haphne Cult Leader for explaining the categorization of murder in the UK.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 4th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	22. SS Ch 4: Proposals and Changes of Plan

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

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**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

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**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 4: Proposals and Changes of Plan.**

* * *

_**July 18, 1992**_

_**Privet Drive**_

_**11:34 AM**_

With the smallest of pops, a tall man in flowing blue robes appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, standing out like a sore thumb against the uniform normality that had been the norm for this neighbourhood for as long as any could remember. Indeed, it was lucky that nobody was on the streets at that moment in time to see the man's appearance, for beyond the small issue of seeing a man pop into existence from nowhere, many of the inhabitants of this place would have phoned up a mental institution had they seen any dressed so luridly as the venerable Hogwarts Headmaster.

Suffice to say, Albus Dumbledore had gone through a rather stressful few weeks. After his conversation with his Potions Master and a few more days to linger in his ivory tower, Dumbledore had quickly departed for the annual summer ICW convention, something that had taken several weeks of his time. Indeed, Dumbledore had only arrived back on British soil and re-entered the comforts of his office less than an hour ago, thanks to the time zone difference. But then, his stress levels had gone up even more.

Albus Dumbledore kept many intricate trinkets within his office. Some of them had indeed been of his own creation, but many had been collected from his numerous trips over the years. The one that was flaring upon his entrance, however, was not only extremely concerning, but one of a kind. It had been one of the few things that Albus had salvaged after the Battle of Nurmengard and the fall of Grindelwald, and he had to admit, it was a rather ingenious creation. It was a trinket that could manually keep very specific tabs on a set of blood wards even from very far away. The best Albus could deduce, Gellert had used it to view the status of the wards of Nurmengard and Katalysator. As Dumbledore could honestly say blood magic was something he viewed as distasteful, he never thought he would ever have use for the artifact. That was, until 1981, when he had hidden the Potter Heir behind a set of blood wards himself.

He had frowned at the device before checking it urgently. Fortunately, the wards had not completely collapsed, but he could tell that they were just days away, possibly weeks, if he was lucky, and hours, if he was particularly unlucky, from collapsing if something drastic did not change. Harry Potter had slipped away from Privet Drive, and Albus could only sigh at that information. He had thought that his warning about knowing whether or not Harry was occupying the property would have been enough. That was, after all, one of the few advantages to Harry being in Slytherin House. It was a House that prided itself on self-preservation and Albus could admit that he thought that instinct would have been enough for the young man to heed his warning.

The fall of the wards would be concerning, but not directly detrimental. The problem would be that with their collapse, Dumbledore would lose his most plausible reason for sending Harry back to Privet Drive if need be. With how strained the relationship was between Harry and Charlus, he was not sure that he could have dared to allow them to live together. If the twins' bond was broken by an act of betrayal on either of their parts, that would mean rather ominous things for the world if Sybil Trelawney's Great Prophecy had anything to say about it.

It was with all of this in mind that Albus Dumbledore strode purposefully down Privet Drive and up the path through the well kept lawn of the house that he knew belonged to the Dursley family. Fearing what he may find inside, Albus Dumbledore raised his hand and knocked softly on the door several times. There was a slight pause before the door opened and he was greeted with the image of a very large boy with short blonde hair who positively gaped at the appearance of the man in front of him.

In spite of himself and the situation at hand, Albus felt his lips twitch. "Good morning. Mister Dursley, I presume?" The boy nodded dumbly, still seeming to be in disbelief at what he was seeing. "A pleasure, young man. It is my hope that your parents may indulge me in a bit of business I would like to take care of today, if you would be so kind as to fetch them or lead me to them directly?"

There was a long pause in which Dudley Dursley very clearly composed himself before he turned and, in a rather horrible screech, called, "Mum! Dad! Someone's at the door for you!" Then, he left, evidently trying to get away from the odd man in the door as fast as his legs would carry him. If the look of surprise on the youngest Dursley's face had been amusing, Dumbledore could have chuckled aloud at the looks of aghast shock and horror that adorned the faces of Petunia and Vernon. He suspected that Vernon simply abhorred what he considered a most splendid outfit, but Petunia very clearly recognized him and she very clearly was not happy about it.

"You?" she breathed in an accusatory hiss of a voice as Vernon grunted in agreement.

"Me." Dumbledore responded easily, his eyes resting on Petunia. "I was under the impression, Petunia, that the two of us had come to a mutual understanding in regards to Harry Potter. You were to keep him safe here until I told you otherwise. You had agreed upon this. So now, on this most pleasant morning, I find myself in your presence to question you on what exactly has changed?" He did not bother informing them how he knew that their wizarding charge was no longer present within the home. Judging by the horror struck look on the large man's face, it was the first question he wanted to ask, but his wife beat him to the metaphorical punch.

"Changed? Nothing changed! The boy left last night! He wanted out and we didn't stop him! How could we have stopped him? What could we have done to make him stay?"

Dumbledore's brows furrowed. "I suspect you could perhaps have done a great number of things, though they likely would have required far more effort than the two of you were clearly willing to exercise."

The man swelled. "Now wait one moment!" he protested. "You dare to stand on the threshold of my home and accuse us-"

"I do not yet dare to accuse you of anything, Mister Dursley." Dumbledore said calmly. "That, however, is subject to change." Then, Dumbledore slipped a long, dark wand from his sleeve and immediately, both of the elder Dursleys stepped back enough to inadvertently admit him into their home. When he had crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him, Dumbledore sighed. "I do apologize in advance for what will more than likely be a less than pleasant experience, but I do ensure you it leaves no lasting pain or damage of any kind." Then, he took aim at Petunia.

"Legilimens."

Dumbledore could have searched through her mind without a wand, that much was true. Doing it that way had its disadvantages though. For one thing, very few witches or wizards could do much more than glean surface thoughts with the use of wandless, wordless Legilimency. While Dumbledore himself was admittedly one of the few that could, it was, for one, more taxing and for two, it could not be done with the same degree of thoroughness. In this instance, when Dumbledore suspected foul play, he did need to be thorough. After all, without a wand, he may never have been able to detect the small traces of memory alterations on both of the elder Dursleys. They had been performed very well, to Albus's annoyance. He could break them with some rather advanced Legilimency, but it would need to be quite forceful, and he had no intention of putting either Dursley through that. Though the images he saw in their minds that related to Harry Potter very sorely tempted him.

Now, Albus found himself more worried than ever. He had expected that Harry would be neglected and was quite sure of it when the young boy had arrived at Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin. He had to admit though, standing in the Dursley household on that warm, yet breezy summer morning, that he would have never expected the Dursleys to be as cruel as they had been. People had accused Albus for years of always seeing the best in people. Now, for perhaps only the second time, Albus had to grudgingly admit that his naysayers may well have a point. He had misjudged the Dursleys terribly. Unbidden, thoughts of another magical prodigy who had been sorted into Slytherin and grown up in a place of abuse and neglect filtered into Dumbledore's mind and took lodge right beside the part of it that was reciting the words of the third stanza of the Great Prophecy.

He would not allow Harry Potter to go down the route that Emily Riddle had walked down before him. There was still hope for Harry and now, after seeing this connection, Dumbledore thought he may have been going about it all wrong. Well, not all wrong, he supposed. The enchanted pieces of parchment had been a good start to his new plan, even if he did admittedly have a third linked to both of them. Now, Dumbledore realized that it may not be the best of ideas to force the Potter twins apart. Perhaps instead, he should try and fix their relationship and maybe Harry would be better off far, far away from this place. It was risky, but he didn't see why it couldn't work. After all, Emily Riddle never had a family; she had never known love and if Dumbledore did not want to repeat the sins of the past, perhaps he needed to remedy matters in order to avert the events of the Great Prophecy.

* * *

_**July 18, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**1:30 PM**_

With his final thanks and goodbyes to the Greengrasses out of the way, Harry stepped into the fire and loudly called out the name of the Weitts family home, ready to join his trunk, which had been taken over by one of the Greengrass house elves already, in arriving. Again, Harry was reminded of how nauseatingly unpleasant he considered Floo travel to be, as fireplace after fireplace spun past his field of view at positively ludicrous speeds. Within about thirty seconds, Harry found himself being thrown out of a fireplace and though he stumbled a bit on the landing, he did manage to, for the most part, turn it into a graceful arrival.

When he arrived this time, the entire family was not waiting for him. There was one figure waiting for him though, and her calculating bluish-silver eyes fixed upon him at once. "Heiress Weitts." Harry greeted, and Grace sighed.

"If we're going to be sharing a property for the rest of the summer, we might as well drop the formalities in private." she told him. "I imagine a first name basis will be less awkward, in any case."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough." he conceded, casting his eyes around the large entrance hall and again finding them resting on the large family crest and cryptic inscription. "I don't suppose you'll tell me what that means, will you?" Harry asked, gesturing vaguely to the inscription upon the crest.

Grace studied him for nearly a full minute before answering his question. "Not now," she decided, "there will be time for that eventually, I'm sure." She gestured for Harry to follow her and he did so. He quickly recognized the path as the one to the room he had frequented during his last visit and as a result, he wasn't too surprised when they arrived at the same, luxurious room. "I have a feeling you remember the layout of the manor?" Grace asked him. Vaguely, Harry wondered if Daphne had told Charlotte about his memory, who had then passed the information onto Grace, but he didn't think that option to be anything more than unlikely.

"I remember, yes."

Grace nodded. "Dinner tonight will likely be served some time around 6:00, but I imagine you'll run into my sister before then."

Harry allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. "That's probably a safe bet."

He expected Grace to immediately leave, but she didn't. Instead, she continued to lean leisurely against the wall and examine him critically. Only after a minute or so of this did she speak again. "You and I need to talk at some point soon. I have a… proposal of sorts to make, but I don't think now is the time in light of… recent events." Harry tensed. "Get yourself situated here first and come find me in the next few days when you're ready." Harry thought that was probably the most sentimental thing he had ever heard the now seventh year Slytherin girl say.

"Sure thing." Harry answered before getting one last word in before she left. "Grace," wow, Harry thought, it felt weird saying her first name, "how much did the Greengrasses tell you?"

If Harry expected the question to catch Grace off guard, which he probably shouldn't have, in retrospect, he'd have been disappointed. "More than you would have liked them to, I would assume." Harry's jaw tightened, but he showed no other visible reaction as he nodded curtly. He hoped they had at least left out the bit about bars on the window, but he supposed it mattered very little now, loathe as he was to admit it, at least in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

A few hours later, Harry was snapped out of his daily Occlumency exercises by a soft knock on the bedroom door. Standing to his feet, he quickly strode across the room and pulled the door open to reveal the smiling form of Charlotte. "Good afternoon." he greeted with a raised eyebrow, a bit taken aback by her jubilant smile.

"It's good to see you again." she told him, her smile still unwavering. "It's been a long time."

Harry's eyebrow rose a bit further. "I didn't think I'd made quite that kind of impression."

Charlotte sighed dramatically. "I've told you already, you interest me and you're not at all unpleasant to be around."

Harry couldn't help but laugh softly at that. It was so typical of Charlotte, from what he knew about her, at least, to throw out a backhanded compliment like that. "Thanks, I guess." he said with a grin.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "I've told you all of this already and I'd have thought Yule made it pretty obvious." There was a tense sort of pause as both of them reminisced on the book Charlotte had sent him.

"I do feel guilty about that." Harry admitted after a time.

Charlotte tilted her head to the side, looking confusedly back at him. "Whatever for?"

"Well, I thought the necklace was decent, but it didn't really compare to the book."

Charlotte just smiled sweetly. "I'm sure you'll come up with a way to make it up to me this year."

"I should be able to manage." he said. "I've been told I'm quite brilliant." he added, allowing a blatantly hyperbolized smirk of arrogance to dawn on his face.

Charlotte kept her brows raised. "Oh, and who told you this?"

"Daphne."

Charlotte actually laughed this time; she couldn't help it. "That is a conversation I would love to see."

"It sort of turned into an inside joke." Harry admitted, stepping out of his room to lean against the wall opposite Charlotte. "His room" was an odd thought. He supposed it wasn't "technically" his, but for all intents and purposes, it was his for the summer. He also supposed that he'd technically had his own room for the past year at Privet Drive, but that never felt like his, for that was never truly his home.

Charlotte's lips twitched. "For some reason, that does not surprise me. If I had to guess, you intentionally took it out of context and it's now your trump card in any argument against Daphne."

"Got it in one." Harry said mischievously, causing Charlotte to laugh again, something that only continued when he added, "Just don't tell Daphne, will you? She's rather scary when she's angry." That part was actually very true, now that he thought about it, but Charlotte did not need to know the hidden depths of that comment. She must have sensed at least a bit of what Harry was thinking because when she stopped laughing, she jerked her head towards the window.

"Would you fancy a walk, if I'm not interrupting anything?" she asked. "I've been inside all day doing lessons and I could use some fresh air."

Harry nodded. "I don't see why not, I wasn't really doing much and it's a nice day out, if a bit breezy." The two of them made their way outside using the secret passage Charlotte had used all those months ago. Harry rolled his eyes, knowing all too well it was done to annoy him as much as speed up the route. "You do love lording your knowledge over me, don't you?"

"Shush, you," Charlotte retorted, "I did basically hand feed you the knowledge that you wanted to know most back at Samhain."

"Touché."

"I thought so."

Harry laughed again. It was odd. He really didn't laugh around people very often, but there was something about Charlotte he just enjoyed. It was different from Daphne. Their relationship almost seemed similar to Daphne's and Blaise's, if a bit on the lesser end of the sniping spectrum. It was enjoyable though. If nothing else, the youngest member of the Weitts family certainly managed to keep Harry on his toes, which was more than he could say about most people his age.

When they exited onto the grounds, Harry's breath caught in his throat. It was, in many ways, the opposite of the Greengrass property, though there were some definite similarities. For example, both properties had lakes, though the one on Weitts Manor appeared to be man, or more likely, magic made, and was much larger. Whereas Greengrass Manor was surrounded by hills far in the distance, Weitts Manor seemed to rest atop a hill, with its splendid grounds spreading out in every direction a bit below.

Charlotte grinned knowingly. "It's nice, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically, and there was a certain, soft kind of fondness in her voice.

"It is." Harry admitted. "I've only seen two of these," he said, referencing manor homes, "but both of them are beautiful."

Charlotte nodded. "I suppose your relationship has gone in the wrong direction with your father judging by… recent events."

Harry's posture stiffened as they began to walk once more. "You could say that, yes." he answered darkly.

"Do me a favour, will you?" Charlotte asked him as they began to walk down the hill and into the valley below.

"Depends on what it is, I suppose."

"Fair enough." she conceded with some amusement. "When your father comes running back for forgiveness, don't turn your back right away." When Harry looked incredulous, Charlotte raised a hand to silence him. "Let me finish, Harry." she chided, as if she were a Kindergarten teacher speaking to her five-year-old student. "When he comes begging for forgiveness, because trust me, he will, take everything he offers you and more. Use the prat for everything he's worth and then, only when he isn't useful to you anymore, throw everything he's done in his face right before you ruin him."

There was a long silence between the two of them as they walked. It was nearly three minutes before Harry responded. "You really do not talk like a ten-year-old, or is it eleven now?"

"It's eleven." Charlotte said, clearly amused.

Harry nodded. "Before we rehash our Samhain discussion on that point, can I admit something to you, Charlotte?"

She looked at him, obviously curious and a bit taken aback. "Be my guest."

"I can see why you and Daphne are such good friends. You're also rather scary when you're angry." As they continued to walk, Charlotte's giggles permeated the air for several minutes until the two of them moved onto more mundane topics of conversation.

* * *

_**Several hours later...**_

Harry took his seat beside Charlotte at the table, just as a house elf laid the food upon the table and Regent Weitts entered the room, marking this as the first time today that Harry had seen him. "Good evening, everybody." he greeted a bit tiredly, taking his seat at the head of the table and thanking the house elf before the creature exited the room. "It's good to see you again, Heir Potter."

"Likewise, sir."

"Surely, we can dispense with such formalities." Lady Weitts said from her spot beside Grace, who sat across from Harry. "If we're spending a summer together, I see no reason why we should not simply be on first name bases with one another?"

After both Harry and Sigmund, that would also take some getting used to, had agreed, the meal began in earnest and silence fell over the group of them. It was not until about five or so minutes into the meal that Adriana turned to her husband. "You look tired. Was it a particularly difficult day of work?"

"Not particularly, no." he admitted. "I just don't think I'll get a whole lot done tomorrow with the Wizengamot meeting. So, I wanted to make sure everything could run smoothly for a day without me if need be."

"Isn't tomorrow the meeting where the Malfoys, Notts, Selwyns and Macnairs are on trial?" Charlotte asked and Harry's ears perked up at once. He had no love for his father at the moment. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact, but it would still be satisfying to see Malfoy knocked down yet another peg.

"It is," Sigmund answered neutrally, "but I don't expect it to be overly eventful."

Charlotte frowned. "Why not?"

Instead of answering, Sigmund looked to his eldest daughter, clearly issuing a challenge of sorts. Grace swallowed her food measuredly before answering her younger sister's question. "They have no way of disputing the eyewitness account of two aurors, even if James Potter's account is a bit of a grey area since he is the persecuting party." she frowned. "The smear campaign against the Malfoys, Notts, Macnairs and Selwyns hasn't helped either."

"Smear campaign?" Harry asked curiously.

"In the Prophet." Grace explained. "That Skeeter woman has been all over this story. If there's a popular bit of drama in the wizarding world, she pounces on it." she shrugged. "The first story she ran on the Malfoys and the rest back in May did well, so she decided to stick with it and milk it for all it's worth. They haven't exactly done Lucius Malfoy any favours."

Harry had to try very hard not to smirk in a sort of self-satisfied way, since he wasn't sure that would be such a good idea in the presence of Sigmund and Adriana.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share that story?" Sigmund asked interestedly. "I won't use it at the meeting or anything, just out of personal curiosity?"

Harry shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. "There's not a whole lot to it, really." he tried. "He accused me of smuggling a dragon out of Hogwarts; even dragged me into Snape's office over it with a fake crate and everything. Frankly, I'd rather not be anywhere near a dragon." No one's expression changed, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that he had fooled nobody at the table. He would have to tread carefully with the giving of information in this household. Suddenly, it became no wonder to Harry why Grace was at the top of the ladder in Slytherin. This environment, friendly, caring, but always challenging, would practically breed top tier Slytherins.

"Before you go, Harry, do you have any questions?" Adriana asked. "Just about general rules and such of the house?"

Harry returned her gaze pensively. "Am I allowed to use magic?" he asked hopefully and to his relief, Adriana dawned a small but soft smile in return.

"I would encourage it." she replied. "I have always told both Grace and Charlotte to use as much magic as possible without going out of their way to do so." She peered curiously at Harry. "I have heard… good things about you, Harry, and am curious to know if you might understand why that is?"

Suddenly aware that he had the attention of all at the table fixated upon him, Harry made sure to choose his words very carefully. "Magic is similar to a muscle in a lot of ways." he answered. "The more you use a spell, the easier it becomes to cast said spell, because your mind and whatever connection we have to magic gains a sort of deeper understanding of that spell." he shrugged. "I've had it explained to me in broad terms, but I'm not a magical theorist by any means."

Adriana looked mildly impressed. "That's the gist of it." she affirmed. "After a time, you will also negate the need for things like wand movements and incantations."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Like… how we were first taught to cast Lumos with a looping wand movement and now I can do it with a much shorter one?"

Adriana crooked an eyebrow. "I imagine that you can very easily cast Lumos without a wand movement at all, I just don't think you've tried. As a matter of fact, take out your wand and cast Lumos, but do so with your wand pointing straight at the floor and do not move it at all. You may need to focus more than you're accustomed to, but I'm sure you'll have no issues." Harry nodded and did as he was told. His eyes widened by a fraction when the wand lit perfectly fine and without pause.

"That's… interesting." he understated, and Adriana nodded.

"Magic as a whole is rather interesting." she said with a near conspiratorial smile.

* * *

_**July 20th 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**8:34 AM**_

_**Houses Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair Plead Guilty to Disgusting Offenses Committed by their Heirs!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

"That's a bit dramatic." were Harry's first words as he took his seat at the table with Charlotte, Adriana and Grace two days after he had arrived at the manor. Of course, he already knew what the article would say, as Sigmund had pretty much told them the entire story last night at dinner. In spite of that, it was still interesting to see Skeeter's most recent attack on the reputations of four people whom Harry disliked with vitriol.

Seeming to realize exactly where Harry's mind was going, Adriana waved her wand absentmindedly, creating a duplicate of the paper, which quickly floated over to Harry since she was still reading hers. "It is very valuable to hear all perspectives of any given situation." Adriana muttered absently, and whether that was directed at Harry, her daughters, or both, he was not sure. Either way, he gratefully peered down at the _Daily Prophet_ and read what "the harpy", as Blaise referred to Skeeter as, had to say on the matter.

_**Yesterday, the Wizengamot convened for their weekly meeting. However, this meeting was not quite as mundane as the others. Before the conclusion of this meeting, we had a definitive end to the ongoing drama between House Potter on one side, and Houses Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair on the other.**_

_**Unfortunately, the trial did not live up to the delicious, soap opera levels of drama that many of us had expected. Lord Lucius Malfoy, Lord Tiberius Nott and Lord Walden Macnair all pleaded guilty to false accusations levelled at the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House, or, in the case of House Macnair, an Ancient House, on behalf of their own Heirs and Houses. Lady Abigail Selwyn, standing Regent for House Selwyn, did the same. Houses Malfoy, Nott and Selwyn must pay House Potter 50,000 galleons in compensation by July 31st, while House Macnair must pay 25,000.**_

_**The fact that none of these families had even one defense is very concerning and it brings into question if there is more ongoing than meets the eye. Were these four families perhaps worried about things hidden away coming to light if this trial went on any longer than it absolutely had to? Is it possible that there are even more dark and hidden depths to some of the most questionable pasts in Magical Britain?**_

Upon the completion of Skeeter's article, Harry hummed in a self-satisfied sort of manner before putting it down. "Well, that was scandalous." he said, not sounding overly bothered by the fact.

Grace sniffed. "Everything Rita Skeeter has ever done has been scandalous."

Harry nodded. "I think Blaise put it best. That woman is a harpy, but dead useful if she's on your side."

"That is a fairly accurate summary, yes." Adriana mused, putting down her own copy of the _Daily Prophet_ just as another owl flew through the window. To Harry's surprise, it was flying towards him and to his even greater surprise, he recognized it as the Potter family owl. He tensed, if barely, but it was enough to alert all three members of the Weitts family currently at the table that something was serious. Tentatively, Harry reached out and untied the letter from the bird's leg, absentmindedly allowing it to nibble on a piece of bacon as he did so. It wasn't the owl's fault that his family were gits; it could eat if it wanted.

When he removed the envelope, he was tempted to check for curses, but seeing as there were laws in place to prevent James from physically harming him, at least if he were to get caught, he figured it was safe to assume that the envelope was not cursed.

_Dear Harry,_

_First, I want to say how disappointed I am that you left your relatives. I know they were prats and I honestly don't like the fact you were sent there much more than you do, but Professor Dumbledore had very good reasons for wanting you there and I am very disappointed that you would not consider those reasons before leaving._

This opening paragraph caused Harry's eyes to flash with fury and he nearly burned the letter to a crisp right there with his wand, but with an admirable amount of restraint, he continued.

_That aside, I really do hope those muggles weren't too terrible to you. Professor Dumbledore did promise he'd make sure they weren't, so I'm sure it was at least one of your more pleasant summers with them._

At this point, Harry just skimmed the letter until James shut up about the Dursleys because quite frankly, he could not be asked to put up with his father's shit right now, and if he read one more Merlin forsaken line about that blasted family, he would be lighting a lot more than the letter on fire. Finally, he found the end of his father's useless ramblings and his eyes narrowed upon what was very obviously the true contents of the letter.

_All that aside, I'm not sure if you know, but the Potters host an annual celebration for Charlus's birthday. It's a sort of charity event, but this year, since you're back and integrated into the magical world, we thought it would be a good idea to invite you and celebrate yours alongside him. It's a… pretty big social event, but I know you were at the Weitts's Samhain Gala so I'm sure you can handle yourself just fine, and we only invite the right sort anyways._

_Please owl back as soon as possible. I… understand if you're upset with me and don't want to come, but it would mean a lot for the Potter family if you're there. I would also formally present you with your Heir's ring at the Gala. I'm really sorry I didn't do that in Hogsmeade last year, but I was… advised, that it would be a good move in terms of publicity to do it publically._

_Hope you're safe and enjoying your summer wherever you are, even if you really shouldn't be there._

_Your father_

Only through the use of Occlumency did Harry manage to keep his facial expression under control, but it did nothing to stop his eyes from flaming like the pits of hell. "What is it?" Charlotte asked him, sounding more curious than nervous.

"I am invited to celebrate my birthday alongside my brother at the annual gala hosted by my family." Harry did an admirable job of keeping his voice neutral, but there was still a drop of coolness in his undertones.

"You should go." Adriana said, almost offhandedly, drawing a rather surprised look from Harry. She merely raised an eyebrow. "Can you give me a legitimate reason why it is not advantageous to you in any way, shape or form to attend the gala aside from the fact that you do not wish to be near your father?" Harry had to mentally admit that she had a point.

"They could potentially try and take him back to his relatives." Grace answered clinically with no emotion attached to her voice. Harry thankfully did not spit out the milk that was in his mouth at the time, but it was a near miss, and he did have a rather dramatic coughing fit.

Adriana nodded thoughtfully. "That's true. Perhaps write back and say you would like a contract drawn up to guarantee you will not be returned to your relatives or have any changes made to your arrangements this summer if you attend the gala."

Harry frowned. "They have no reason to sign that though, do they?"

Adriana took a moment to ponder his question. "May I read the letter?" Harry hesitated for only a moment before he acquiesced. There really wasn't anything personal written within the letter anyways. After a long pause, Adriana answered him. "They have no reason not to. If you don't attend, they won't be able to find you, hence they lose nothing by promising not to do something they are currently incapable of doing. Furthermore, if you attend, James Potter earns the publicity of presenting you with your ring and gets to introduce his Heir. I know you do not wish to publicly endorse your father right now, but it is more to your benefit to play nice for the cameras and if you truly wish to work against him, wait until the correct opportunity presents itself. Forcing conflict for conflict's sake almost always ends in disaster."

Privately, Harry marvelled at Adriana's political acumen. He had just been positively schooled during what he realized to be his first real lesson in politics. The irony was not lost on him that instead of his father teaching him those lessons as it should have been, it was somebody who his father at the very least distrusted. And the political advice imparted onto James's son was how best to outmaneuver the man himself.

"How would I check over any contract he proposes to make sure there's nothing sneaky hidden in it?"

"That's easy," Adriana dismissed, "I could very easily put you in touch with a number of people who could do that. Actually, amongst their many businesses, the Greengrasses own a law firm that may suit your purposes." Harry nodded; it all made sense to him.

Once the meal had concluded, Charlotte and Adriana made their way out of the kitchen and off to somewhere Harry didn't know. Charlotte had morning lessons with her mother of some kind. Harry assumed it was some sort of tutoring, but he had not yet asked. As he and Grace left the kitchen, Harry decided now was as good a time as ever.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

Grace didn't even break stride as she nodded, seeming to be satisfied by his question. "I did. I'm assuming you want to do it now?" when Harry nodded, Grace gestured for him to follow her, and she led him up to the same floor that he and Charlotte stayed on. This time, she led him further down the hall and to a door he had never opened. When Grace placed a hand on the doorknob, the lock clicked and admitted the two of them.

If Harry expected to learn a lot about Grace from her room, he was sadly disappointed. The walls were done in a soft, greyish colour and a very large bookshelf took up a fair bit of space as well. If not for the fact that the rooms in the manor were massive, it would have dominated the room. Grace took a seat at the head of her bed, leaning casually against the wall and gestured for Harry to take a seat on the bed facing her. When he did so, she began.

"You've been learning Occlumency, haven't you?" When Harry's eyes widened, Grace's lips twitched. "Don't be so surprised, Harry." It was odd to hear her call him anything other than Potter. "I'm quite a high-level Occlumens myself and I can recognize the signs of one. Your composure at the beginning of the year was respectable, but I saw your little fit when you found out what Malfoy did to Tracey. If I hadn't suspected it before, you not reacting to your father's letter pretty much proved it." Harry had to mentally applaud her because what else could he do? She personified what it meant to be a Slytherin, if nothing else, and Harry could at least appreciate that.

"I have been, yes." he admitted, not exactly able to convince her otherwise at this point.

Grace nodded. "How long have you been practicing?"

"Since just after Yule."

If Grace had put together that Harry must have gotten a gift which enabled him to learn, which he thought she probably had, she didn't show it. "Have you progressed to the stage of clearing your mind, or are you still in the meditative preparation stage?"

"I can clear my mind." Harry responded measuredly, not quite knowing where this conversation was heading.

Grace nodded. "I had thought so, but I needed to be sure. How consistently can you do so?"

Harry blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"If you try and clear your mind ten times, how often do you think you would succeed?"

Harry paused, trying to see if there was something he was missing before he shrugged and decided to be honest. "Ten."

Resounding silence followed his statement as Grace looked at him in a way that might suggest she was sizing him up. "That is… very impressive. You're sure you're not exaggerating?" he nodded and Grace adopted a pensive look. "How quickly can you clear your mind, Harry?"

Harry's brow furrowed as he thought. "Like… fifteen seconds — maybe closer to ten on a good day."

Grace just shook her head. "I'm not saying that I don't believe you," she said in a very pensive sort of voice, "but that… shouldn't be possible. As in, that should not be remotely close to possible by using any conventional methods. If you were a prodigy, I would say that maybe you could reach that level by September, and frankly, that is a stretch."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why are you asking this?"

Grace did not react to the question. "You'll find out in a minute." she paused. "Would you… mind if I tried to confirm that claim of yours?"

"How would you go about doing that?" Harry asked in a rather cautious tone.

"I would use an extremely light Legilimency probe. Not even enough to glean your surface thoughts, just enough to gauge the overall state of your mind." she shrugged. "Legilimency honestly isn't my forte. I am a much better Occlumens than I am a Legilimens, but I'm more than competent enough for this."

Now, it was Harry's turn to adopt a pensive look. "I… really don't like the idea of people poking around inside my head, so I would like to know why you want to do this and why you're so interested in my ability with Occlumency?"

Grace sighed. "You are the most paranoid child I have ever met in my life, but I suppose I can't really blame you given… the circumstances." She gave him a pensive look. "Are you aware of the difference between Passive and Active Occlumency?"

"Passive Occlumency refers to the manipulation of one's own mind. Active Occlumency refers to the active blocking of psychic breaches and attacks."

Grace blinked. "That was… well said. Yes, that is the gist of it. Are you aware of the main roadblock to learning Active Occlumency?"

"You need a partner." Harry said a bit bitterly. Emily had told him this about a week and a half ago, but he had read it long before that in his book on Occlumency from Charlotte. Grace was giving him an odd, expectant look, as if she was waiting for him to put something together. Then, with widened eyes, it clicked. "You want… to teach me Active Occlumency?"

Grace's expression didn't change. "That depends on whether or not you accept my proposal, but I'm certainly willing to teach you."

Harry had to try very hard not to gape at Grace but he managed, if barely. He had no idea how good she was at Occlumency but judging by her general demeanour, implied skill and evident knowledge, Harry would wager that she was quite good. Still, he could not help but be wary. Grace was at the top of Slytherin's ruthless hierarchy for a reason. "And what do you want in return?" Harry asked, knowing full well that was what this would boil down to.

Grace's face showed emotion for the first time in minutes and it was… annoyance. "I'll be frank with you," she told him, "I'm a bit of a control freak, and I absolutely abhor things that I cannot control." she paused. "It's a sort of unwritten rule that the upper years don't interfere in first year drama." Harry was so tempted to bite out that she should have told Daniel Selwyn about that rule, but he held his tongue. Then, finally, Grace came out with it.

"Charlotte is starting Hogwarts this year, and even though she can take care of herself just fine, I worry for her." It was perhaps the most open thing Grace had ever said in Harry's presence. "I'm not sure if there is anything in this world that I care for more than Charlotte, and I know that she will be a target because of me, and that I can't do anything about it without turning every single upper year Slytherin against me in an instant. Which, frankly, wouldn't take a whole lot given the circumstances." She fixed Harry with a hard, determined look. "I want you to promise me that you will do anything you can to protect Charlotte this year and for the next few when I'm gone. If you do that, I will do my best to teach you Occlumency."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Assuming I accept," he said carefully, "what makes you think that I'll actually be able to protect her even if I try?"

Grace sighed. "Let's void the mind games, shall we? You are the most gifted student to come through Slytherin since long before me. You somehow managed to set up Malfoy at Samhain and I still don't know how you did it. You then managed to flip some sort of plan devised by not only Malfoy and Nott, but Andrew Macnair and Daniel Selwyn in a way that backfired horribly on all four of them. Granted, Macnair is incompetent, but Selwyn is very far from it. Your track record speaks for itself, so cut the modesty, will you? If you're trying to get something else out of me, then make your point."

For the first time, Harry realized exactly how Grace and Charlotte were sisters. They were far more alike than Harry had first thought. Grace just buried those similarities under Occlumency and years of well-practiced mental moderation. Now, with her guard down around him for the first time, she switched effortlessly from cold and aloof to blunt and to the point. This was the first time Harry realized how alike the sisters actually were, and he thought himself likely to be one of the few to ever learn of the fact.

"Since you decided to be so honest," Harry began, "allow me to return the favour. I did manage to flip their plan around, as you and your family have figured out." Harry bit his cheek, about to say something intensely unpleasant. "I did it through cunning and deception, but if it came to a point where Daniel Selwyn attacked Charlotte directly, I would be no help. I frankly got my arse handed to me when he used a more direct approach and I would have no hope of beating him, or someone of his skill in open combat. Calypso might, but I'd rather not drag my other friends into this little arrangement if I can avoid it."

There was a long, tense pause that filled the room before Grace spoke very slowly. "For what I'm about to propose, you better be the most dedicated student in all of Hogwarts, since I will not waste my time and I honestly cannot believe I am doing this at all. We will meet two days a week. The days will depend on each of our schedules but on one of those days, I will do my best to teach you Occlumency. On the other, I'll teach you combat magic." Harry could not stop the feral grin from spreading across his face and Grace sighed. "And yes, I am well aware that you essentially just played me to get more out of this arrangement. Don't think you've got one over on me for any other reason than the fact that I let you. But honestly, you have a point. If I want you to protect my sister, I can't help you directly, at least, not unless things get far more serious than I think likely, but I can at least make sure that you do the best job possible." With a sigh, she extended a hand. "We have a deal then?" she asked, wanting to make sure of the fact.

Harry's grin switched to a more businesslike demeanour that spoke of resoluteness and promise. "We do. I will do my best to protect your sister, I promise." He took her hand and they shook firmly. "A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Weitts."

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**That final line of Harry's is one I have been waiting to write since long before I wrote the prologue, so it's nice to finally have it out there. **

**Two things here before I sign off. Firstly, please have patience with the whole Harry/James dynamic. I can already invision the furious reviews that Harry is even attending the gala, but as I've said already, the time for vengeance has not yet arrived. And secondly, for the two of you who reviewed the last chapter saying that it was wholly unnecessary, we can agree to disagree. For one thing, I actually enjoy showing the backstories of characters in order to give them some depth, shoot me, I know. And for two, it will be quite important later in the year, so just have some patience. **

**Finally, a shoutout to Discord member Haphne Cult Member Paddi for pointing out a slight timing inconsistency in the original draft of this chapter. **

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 11th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	23. SS Ch 5: Of Darkness and Defense

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 5: Of Darkness and Defense**

* * *

_**July 20, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**9:02 PM**_

Harry and Grace had not practiced any Occlumency that day, as Grace had a rather absurd amount of homework that would prepare her for her N.E.W.T year at Hogwarts, and she wanted to tackle as much of it as possible that day. She did, however, run a weak Legilimency probe through Harry's mind to validate his claim. To say that she had been surprised by her findings would have been words uttered by somebody with a profound talent for understatement. Amusedly, Harry replayed that moment of revelation in his mind, internallyy commending himself for likely being the only person outside of the Weitts family who had seen Grace more surprised than any other.

Truthfully, Harry hadn't done a whole lot for the rest of the day. He had Flooed over to Greengrass Manor and spent some time with Daphne, Tracey and Blaise. The latter and his mother would be away vacationing in August, so none of the other three would have an opportunity to spend time with Blaise after that point. As a result, they were trying to make a point of spending time together when possible. After Harry had returned to Weitts Manor and eaten dinner, he simply retreated to the library, in which he read a rather advanced book on Transfiguration. It was true that some of the theory did go over his head, but he honestly felt like he had made some major breakthroughs while reading the tome in question. It was not like his textbooks, which often hinted at the point and allowed the student to figure it out on their own. This one laid it out as it was, if admittedly in rather complex terms.

Now, after spending several hours holed up in the library, Harry slumped back onto his bed and pulled the blank journal towards him before picking up a quill and beginning to write. He did not trust Emily Riddle unconditionally. Very far from it, as a matter of fact, but he did trust her judgement and knowledge in regards to Occlumency.

_So, I have somebody who is willing to teach me Active Occlumency now._

The pause before Emily's response came wasn't long. Come to think of it, it was never overly long.

_How interesting. I do hope you trust the person whom you have chosen?_

Harry rubbed his temples thoughtfully. Did he trust Grace? Certainly not unconditionally, but when put into the specific context of their agreement…

_The two of us made a somewhat mutual agreement that will hopefully benefit the both of us. I'm confident that there will be no deceptions._

Harry almost cursed the perfection of Emily's handwriting when it appeared. It didn't even look real. It was as if it had been done by a printer in a sleek, elegant font, and not a person at all.

_That's good to hear. Did she tell you what level of Occlumency or Legilimency she is operating at?_

Harry paused, not quite grasping the question.

_Level? She did say she was a high level Occlumens but that she was more gifted in Occlumency than she is in Legilimency. I'm not entirely sure if that's what you mean by "level" though?_

_It is not. _was the initial response before Emily chose to elaborate. _You likely would not have read this, as if your book is as well written as it would appear from an outside perspective, it would likely wait to bring up the finer details. This topic in particular could encourage those foolhardy enough to attempt to rush the process and skip valuable steps, which would in turn be detrimental to their progression and potentially damaging in terms of their livelihood. _

Harry frowned. _Aren't you technically rushing me though? Or "expediting the process", as you called it?_

_Ah yes, I do like that about you, you know that? You are observant and don't follow blindly. Keep that mentality and it will take you very far in life. The answer to your question is rather complex, so I will simplify it for both of our sakes. Yes, I am "technically" rushing you through the stages of Occlumency; though this process will not be able to speed you through the other stages quite like it has done the first. In reality, the main, fundamental difference is that I am not skipping steps. I am simply substituting in alternative methods that I have devised and have proven to be far more efficient than those that have been tried and tested by time._

_That… makes sense, I suppose. So what was this about levels?_

_I suppose that in reality, tiers may have been a better word choice, but they are referred to as levels, so that is how I chose to call them. Both Occlumency and Legilimency are seven-tiered systems. There are seven levels to both Occlumency and Legilimency. Each level centers around one or two major components that must be mastered before you can safely advance any further. Within all of these levels, there are subskills of a sort. For example, you will eventually be able to open thought streams within your mind, allowing you to devote your entire focus to multiple trains of thought simultaneously. That is just one of several examples I could give. These skills do not need to be learned to advance, but if you would like my help and value my opinion, you will be learning all of them._

Harry shrugged. It made sense to him and honestly, he would have wanted to learn all of them anyway, so this arrangement was perfectly fine by him. _I'm assuming that I would be a level one Occlumens, then?_

_You would be, though you are very near to advancing to the second level. Do not celebrate this too proudly, for the levels get exponentially more difficult and monotonous to advance through as you continue to progress. Level one is about understanding your mind. It is why much of it is meditative. By the end of level one, an Occlumens will know their mind well enough that they will be able to sense any irregularities. The exception to this would be a particularly skilled practitioner of Legilimency. Now, it does not mean that they will be able to rid themselves of said irregularity, but they will almost always be able to recognize it. Admittedly, it will often take the mental examination of one's mind to do so for quite some time before the instinct becomes subconscious._

Harry's brow furrowed. _What are the focuses of all of the other levels?_

_All in good time, Harry — all in good time._

Harry sighed. _So is developing a defense against Legilimency not a level one skill?_

_That depends on the context of the word "defense". You will learn to sense a Legilimency probe. It should give you enough time to at least break eye contact, but level one is more about understanding. I personally believe that you could potentially advance to level two of Occlumency by the end of September. Possibly even the end of the summer, depending on how adept your tutor is._

_Should I ask what level of Occlumens she is?_

_It is a… grey area, shall we say? There is no board of examiners that examine and grade a person's level of proficiency. Most people will at least have a rough idea, but unless they are being taught by someone of fairly exceptional prowess who can run tests for them, they cannot be completely sure._

Harry frowned. _How will I know when to advance to the next level then?_

_Well, my hope would be that your tutor would know, but you will answer all of my questions with one-hundred percent honesty and allow me to be the judge of that._

Harry could not help but allow a small, thin smile to tease the corners of his lips. It was so odd having an adult genuinely helping him so freely. And the fact that she was a seemingly incessant fountain of magical knowledge wasn't exactly a downside either.

* * *

_**July 24, 1992**_

_**An Undisclosed Location**_

_**2:24 PM**_

Charlus would have groaned if he had not just had all of the air forcefully ripped from his body by whatever purple spell had struck him hard in the midsection. He sunk to his knees as his wand was torn from his hands by yet another spell. He was far too dignified, or simply too stubborn to curl into a fetal position, but how his body wanted to do just that. This was now Charlus's fourth lesson with Mister Bellona, and according to the man, or woman, or whomever or whatever lurked under that creepily perfect disguise, Charlus had been utterly useless when they had started. Personally, Charlus found that evaluation to be rather harsh, but he did not dare argue with Mister Bellona on that point. He learned very early on that arguing only ended poorly, and though he thought his methods mildly inhumane at times and positively arcane otherwise, Charlus could not deny that his instructor had been nothing short of brilliant!

Admittedly, much of the practices had been rather boring thus far. He had absolutely no base with which his instructor could work with, so naturally, Mister Bellona had been left no choice but to teach Charlus from the ground up, basic fundamentals and all. The format of Mister Bellona's lessons were pretty similar. The first half an hour would be spent duelling. More precisely, it would be Charlus trying to last as long as he could while Mister Bellona beat him easily every single time without putting in any real effort. After this, they would spend an hour doing what Mister Bellona referred to as the "core work". This meant that whatever the primary focus of the lesson was, be it spells or techniques, they would dedicate that full hour to that practice.

Once that hour had dwindled, they would spend the remaining half an hour of their lesson going over tactics and strategies. Oftentimes, it seemed that his instructor would break down Charlus's mistakes during their mock duels and give in-depth analysis on how he could have better prepared and reacted for each situation. Other times, he would present Charlus with a real-world situation and ask him how he would deal with said situation. At least half of the time, this would end with Charlus feeling rather foolish, as Mister Bellona often presented very simple ways in which the conflict could either be outright avoided or ended with as little fuss as possible. Charlus, on the contrary, often proposed the most direct and flamboyant method possible and when he did so, he was sure that if he could see his tutor's face, there would be a disapproving sneer plastered across it that would be worthy of either Snape or Malfoy.

"That will suffice." Mister Bellona's smooth, sophisticated drawl informed Charlus, prompting him to unsteadily rise from the floor. That was yet another thing he had learned quite early on during this student/mentor relationship. Showing weakness was not an option — ever. As Mister Bellona put it, his enemies would not give him the option, so why should he? Internally, Charlus actually agreed with this philosophy, harsh as it was. He had already learned that the hard way down in the catacombs of Hogwarts just weeks earlier. "I will be teaching you a spell today." Mister Bellona told him. "Your fundamentals are shaky, but they are firmly enough in place that you can and will hone them on your own time." Charlus nodded hurriedly; he would actually put time into it on his own. "For the remainder of our weekly sessions, which I think will increase to two per week in August, if you are able, I will be teaching you actual magic."

Charlus had to try hard not to gape. "You'll be teaching me twice a week-" but he paused when Mister Bellona's wand flicked towards him and a hot whip seemed to lash across his face, causing him to stagger. It was nothing compared to the curse he had endured during their first lesson, but it was still distinctly unpleasant.

"Do not ask questions you already know the answer to." the instructor told him. "It is counterproductive and wastes both of our time. In battle, the only time such questions are appropriate are when you are stalling for time. Now," he continued, turning to the line of dummies Charlus had used for target practice, "we will practice something… impactful, shall we? Let us call it an early birthday gift, of sorts." The man's wand snapped up and he deliberately drew the slash out in the air. The wand movement was unnecessary for him and it had been so for many years, but it was an apt way of teaching, he thought.

"Lacero."

A dark purple blur, nearly imperceptible to the human eye, seemed to escape from the figure's wand when he drawled the word, rolling the L in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion. The dummy that the advanced cutting curse slammed into promptly lost the leg that the curse had impacted.

It did not repair itself.

"You will find that these targets react in the way a human being may do so. That curse's damage will not be healed naturally by the human body, though it is of course possible to heal the damage through the use of magic."

"But s-sir? Isn't that d-dar-" but he did not finish. The same curse from his first lesson promptly washed over him and Charlus wanted to rip this man's or woman's throat out as the pain took him over. The fact that he knew he could do absolutely nothing made it all the worse. He had no hope of hurting the figure and as a result of the strict oaths he had willingly and knowingly entered into, he could tell nobody with the ability to do a thing about it.

"I will not tell you again!" the figure told him sharply. "There is no such thing as light and dark or good and evil, only power, and the intent with which it is wielded. The fact that the target did not reconstruct leads you to believe the spell is dark but in actuality, it simply means it is practical. If you are not willing to use spells that are actually useful in combat, we will cease these lessons at once and I will discard you as yet another lost cause. Is that your final choice?"

"N-n-no, sir." Charlus said as vehemently as he could manage in his current state, hastily scrambling up to his feet as he did so.

And on they went for the next nearly hour and a half. Charlus had quite a bit of trouble with this curse. Apparently, he needed to conjure up a certain amount of negative emotion for this spell to be successful, and he was struggling to do that while still focusing on the spell. Mister Bellona had been surprisingly complimentary of his attempt and had even assured him that he had rarely taught anyone who mastered the spell on their first day. As a result of this, by the time Charlus left, his mood had been mildly lifted.

When he left, the man, for it was indeed a man under the grey cloak, waited several minutes in the room for what he knew was to come next. Then, less than five minutes later, the same portkey that Charlus Potter used to arrive for each and every lesson deposited the man who always brought the boy back to and from each and every lesson in front of him. "Wormtail," Mister Bellona greeted before slowly, he reached up and lowered his hood, revealing well-kept golden blonde hair, soft yet sharp aristocratic features with an obvious undertone of danger and deep, blue eyes. "It has been so long. I must admit, I found it rather insulting when you did not have the time for such a chat after the last number of sessions I most graciously conducted for my old friend's godson."

Peter just smiled easily back at the man. "Oh, you know I'd have made time for you if I could have. It's been quite difficult getting this exact time off each week, let alone making sure James doesn't get this exact time off."

The man known as Mister Bellona nodded his understanding. "Quite understandable, Pettigrew. It would be most unfortunate if James Potter strolled into my home now, wouldn't it?"

"Quite," Peter agreed, focusing a more interested stare on the man who still wore the grey cloak, "so tell me, old friend, how is my godson progressing in relation to the plan?"

A soft, cruel smile made itself present on Mister Bellona's lips, "Ah, he is doing quite well. He is a stubborn child filled with idiocy, false morality, and overall foolish beliefs but I believe that by the end of the summer, all shall be in place for your rather ingenious little plan to begin to unfold."

The smile that was now resting on Peter Pettigrew's face was far more reminiscent of an expression typical of a starved rodent who had found food at long last as oppose to a person. "Splendid!"

* * *

_**July 25, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**8:34 AM**_

Harry finished reading the draft of James Potter's proposed contract and swiftly realized that the attention of the entire table was fixated on him. This morning, Sigmund was actually joining them, and the extra set of eyes only served to amplify the intensity of the gazes fixed upon him.

He looked at each member of the Weitts family in turn and shrugged. "I don't really know what you're expecting," he admitted, "but honestly, a lot of this went way over my head. I'm not a lawyer." he frowned. "Actually, come to think of it, is that even what they're called in the magical world?"

"Solicitor would be more apt." Sigmund told him, eyeing the offending contract with poorly hidden curiosity. "May I?" Harry handed it over without much thought. It wasn't really like Sigmund could actually do damage of any kind and it was true that he would have a far higher probability of piecing together the intricacies of said contract than Harry.

There was about five minutes in which nobody spoke. Then, as he handed the contract back to Harry, Sigmund broke the rather tense silence. "This looks perfectly in order to me. I'm not a solicitor, but I'd like to think that I'd have picked out any blatant issues. I can have it sent to our family solicitor, if you'd like." he paused. "Actually, I would strongly recommend it."

Harry frowned. "How much will that cost?" he asked a bit nervously. "I… don't exactly have free access to my family's vault." He didn't really have any access at all, but if the Weitts family had not deduced this yet, he had no intention of enlightening them in regards to the fact.

Adriana waved her hand. "Don't worry about the cost," she told Harry, "we'll cover it." His eyes widened in surprise but by now, he knew better than to second guess Adriana Weitts. She was an extremely deliberate woman who only spoke when she was very sure of what she was saying.

"Thank you." Harry said, trying to convey his genuine gratitude through his expression and words alone. He hoped that the soft smile that Adriana sent back his way was confirmation that he had succeeded, but he couldn't be sure.

* * *

_**July 26, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**10:21 AM**_

Harry had asked that morning about broomsticks. More specifically, how hard they were to get a hold of. When he had asked that question, he had certainly not expected Adriana to mention offhandedly that they had an array of broomsticks in storage. Even then, he was still taken aback to find Cleansweap 10s, probably the best broom in the world aside from Nimbus's most recent models. Better still, Adriana had told him to use the broomsticks whenever he wanted, just to make sure he wasn't doing anything beyond what he was comfortable with.

So that's how Harry found himself on the front lawn of the manor with a state-of-the-art racing broom in his hand and a gleam in his eye. Finally, he would be able to fly freely, without the imposed restraints of Madam Hooch to hold him back.

As he kicked off and shot straight up into the air faster than he had ever done so before, Harry exalted in the feeling more than he had thought possible. Even on what he had then thought may very well have been the brink of death under the school in June, Harry had taken intense pleasure in chasing down the key on the broken, battered Hogwarts broom. Now, as he streaked through the air and did a lap of the manor at a frankly preposterous speed, Harry felt as though he may have just found the greatest feeling in the world. Feeling bold, he inverted and dove straight towards the ground as if chasing a snitch. He did not come super close to brushing his toes up against the grass as a professional seeker in a desperate, death-defying dive may attempt, but he dove far more boldly than any relative beginner should dare to dive.

As he pulled up, Harry privately wished he had a mirror to gaze into. He doubted that the grin that currently adorned his features had ever been matched in his eleven plus years of life, and it was an element of the moment that he wished to truly see for himself.

* * *

_**July 30, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**8:43 AM**_

After his morning Occlumency exercises and a quick chat with Emily on a potion in the late second year portion of his textbook, Harry quickly dressed and made his way down into the Weitts family's immaculate dining room. Upon entering, he froze with absolute shock as a wave of sound accosted him. Only through the use of Occlumency did he not flinch back from it, but as soon as he realized the source and context, his face split into a rare, unguarded smile.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!"

There, in the dining room were not only Sigmund, Adriana, Grace and Charlotte, but also Blaise, Tracey, Daphne and the Greengrass parents, as well as Daphne's younger sister, Astoria.

Occlumency be damned, Harry positively gaped at the lot of them. Never in all of his life had he even had anybody celebrate his birthday. If not for the Potter Gala he would be attending tomorrow, he likely would not have even remembered the fact that his birthday was tomorrow. As it was, he honestly expected an obligatory gift or two at the gala, but he never thought he would truly have people to celebrate his birthday with.

"This is the most surprised that I have ever seen you." Daphne said when Harry worked his way to the table, thanking all of them as graciously as he could manage in his current state as he went. "With all that happened this last year," she whispered so nobody else could hear, "that's saying a lot."

Harry shot her an almost sheepish smile. "It's the little things that count, Daphne."

That day was one of the more enjoyable days that Harry had partaken in over the past year of his life. He didn't even bother to internalize the rest, because he knew full well with no thought on the matter that nothing before his trip to Diagon Alley last summer would have a chance at comparing to, let alone topping this.

The friends didn't do a whole lot, not really, anyway. They played chess, talked, and lazed around the grounds. By the time dinner had come, the mood in the house was high and by the time it was over and Harry was presented with more presents than he'd have ever guessed he would receive in his life, jubilant may have been a more apt description for the mood.

He received sweets and customary tokens from most of his fellow Slytherin yearmates. To his amusement, even Malfoy had sent him something, though Harry suspected that may have only happened due to some… nudging from his parents. As a matter of fact, the dress shoes sent by the Malfoys were rather nice, and probably extremely expensive to boot.

Blaise had gotten Harry a stylish pair of shoes too, but when Harry read the note, conveniently not aloud, it was only then that he recognized the true value of the gift. The shoes would mask any and all noise Harry's feet made while moving. With his ring hiding him from sight and the shoes making him auditorily undetectable, Harry thought exploring the castle at night may very well be a go this year.

The Carrow twins had each bought him a gift, which Harry honestly had not expected. He thought they would have simply split on one gift. Hestia had sent him a book on Ancient Runes. She must have remembered Harry borrowing her Runic Dictionary all those months ago. Coincidentally, a Runic Dictionary was exactly what Flora had sent him. Cassius, who seemed to be a bit of a history nut if his other present and constant talks about history were anything to go off of, had sent him a very old book called _The Unfiltered Evolution of Magical Britain. _Calypso, as expected, had also opted for a book. Hers was more practical. It was a book filled with some rather… questionable curses.

Next, Harry opened the Greengrasses' gift and his eyes widened. At a glance, it wouldn't seem like much, just a bunch of parchment. Upon a further inspection, however, one may have realized that it was in fact a contract already signed by the Greengrass family and another woman named Veronica Tate. According to Cyrus, it was a five year contract that would see Tate locked in as Harry's solicitor and the costs would be covered by the Greengrasses. Harry actually didn't know how to respond to that and had to hold back his emotions as he signed his own name with a blood quill to bind the contract. Clearly, they had no intentions of letting him return to Privet Drive, and that alone meant the world to him.

Tracey's gift too did not appear much more than a book on the surface. Then, when one examined it, they might realize that it was a book on wizarding families of the southwest UK. According to Tracey, this region didn't contain many families, so the author went into considerable detail on each. His family was one of the main features of the book. If they were not in public, Harry might have actually considered hugging Tracey.

Finally, he got to the Weitts's gift and was yet again taken aback. In the package was another contract. This one, however, with his signature, would make him the holder of his own personal Gringotts vault. This vault would see a rather large sum of money transferred into it from the Weitts family vault upon his signature. By no means would it set him up for life or anything, but with that being said, it may be enough to purchase himself a small property and it would certainly get him through his Hogwarts years comfortably. Attached too, was an ankle band that would serve as a portkey directly to Weitts Manor.

"In case… certain individuals decide to meddle." was the justification Adriana had given him. Privately, Harry was baffled as to how his relationship with the Weitts family had developed so quickly, but all in all, this was very easily the best birthday of his life — even if his birthday was not technically until the next day.

* * *

_**July 31, 1992**_

_**Potter Manor**_

_**12:00 PM**_

Harry arrived at Potter Manor via his portkey at the exact time the festivities were set to begin. As the Heir of House Potter, he didn't think he could get away with being fashionably late to a charity event such hosted by his own family. With that being said, he had absolutely no desire to arrive any earlier than was strictly necessary. He did not want to be in the same room as his father at the moment. That was not even accounting for the possibility of Dumbledore turning up. If that happened, he would have to maintain a firm and constant grip on his Occlumency to prevent the temptation to curse him in the back.

Harry's family home seemed to be set in a vast clearing in the middle of what appeared to be endless forestry on all sides. The home itself was four stories tall and made mostly out of rich, dark woods with bright accents. The wood had a reddish tinge and the accents were gold in many places. The fact that even Harry's home was done in Gryffindor colours was something that Harry was not sure how to feel about, but he simply dismissed the fact as he made his way towards the manor. The festivities would start with lunch, and would then open up for some socializing. Politicking was probably more accurate, but socializing was the official order of business. After an hour or so of this, they would get to the presentation of gifts for Charlus, all of which would be donated to the Charlus Potter Charitable Fund. Harry figured he'd have a few in there as well, but he wasn't overly bothered. After that, James would formally present Harry with his Heir's ring to end the day on a positive note in regards to publicity.

All of this ran through Harry's mind as he made his way towards the large front doors of Potter Manor, which were left wide open to admit all of the guests. Harry made sure to straighten his posture just a little bit more and stand just a little bit taller as he made his appearance.

About ten steps into the rather splendid entryway, Harry's resolve was tested for the first time. There was James Potter, greeting guests and shaking hands and beside him, Charlus, smiling charmingly up at all of the adults who looked upon him with awestruck adoration. Harry had to try very hard not to sneer. It was foolish enough that the wizarding world had made a messiah out of a child. It was another level of foolishness when you considered the fact that Charlus had simply existed to earn that title. When considering the vital bit of context that Harry knew in regards to how it happened, the levels of idiocy raised still further. Granted, the rest of the wizarding world did not know that in reality, it had essentially been Lily Potter who had defeated Voldemort. Still, Harry found it pathetic how they all flocked to Charlus like sheep. If anyone should have been celebrated as a result of that night, it was their mother.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on one's viewpoint, James chose that moment to spot Harry and his face broke out into a look of relief. Harry could have rolled his eyes. Surely his father had not been foolish enough to think he wouldn't show up just to spite him? As deliciously savage as that image was, it was also the exact opposite of beneficial to Harry. If James had thought that to be a serious possibility, he really did not know the first thing about Slytherin House.

On one hand, James spotting Harry was fortunate because it did break him out of his rather dark contemplations. On another, this now meant that he would have to play nice with his father and brother in public, which was something he was distinctly not looking forward to.

"Harry!" James greeted with a rather shocking amount of enthusiasm. It was only years of practicing the art of smiling charmingly back at people who Harry had actively despised that allowed him to plaster a warm, content smile on his face as he made his way towards his father, ignoring how cameras flashed as he did so. Doubtlessly, the _Daily Prophet _would be covering Charlus Potter's birthday and doubtlessly, they would want the scoop on the forsaken Potter Heir.

"Father." Harry greeted in a polite voice that could easily pass as cheerful. Granted, he did not put anywhere near the same amount of jubilance into his voice as James had done moments earlier. For one, it was just not an image he was looking to portray and for two, forcing the smile was straining enough. If he tried to overdo this, he might truly go mental.

There was a very awkward moment when James very obviously was meant to hug Harry for the camera but very obviously thought better of it. Harry wondered whether James himself had been observant enough to come to that conclusion, or whether Pettigrew or someone else had gone and whispered secrets in his ear. In the end, the Lord and Heir of House Potter settled for a firm handshake and for James to pat Harry on the back, a motion that Harry tried very hard not to react to. It was bad enough that anyone was touching him. It was far worse still that it was the father who had allowed the old codger to ship him back to Privet Drive.

Harry had hoped he would pass largely unnoticed at the gala by allowing James and Charlus to cast him in their shadow. It became very evident very early that was not going to happen at all when James politely insisted Harry stay to greet the guests. It was not for more than an hour later that everybody make their way outside into the vast courtyard and pick seats at the many tables. Harry found himself sitting beside his brother, who had yet to say a word to him outside of the obligatory greeting. In fact, Charlus was sneaking covert, angry glares at Harry whenever he had the chance, and Harry's raised eyebrow each time clearly was not doing his brother's temper any favours. Aside from themselves, at the ten person table, there was James, Pettigrew, and according to James's introductions, Susan and Amelia Bones, as well as Neville and Augusta Longbottom. Of course, Harry knew the Longbottom Heir on sight, but he had been ignorant as to the rest of the guests. The two final chairs did not remain empty for long, as about a minute later, two figures began to make their way towards them. When the two of them came close enough to become distinguishable, Harry could have sworn allowed at the man on the left.

'Of fucking course it's Dumbledore.'

"Good afternoon," Dumbledore greeted the table enthusiastically, "I am sorry for my tardiness, but I did have most urgent business to attend to with our dear Minister here before arriving."

Then, with a jolt, Harry realized who the man standing beside Dumbledore was. He was thin and of average height but had sharp, intelligent features, dark eyes, greying hair and a moustache of the same colour.

It was Barty Crouch Senior, the Minister of Magic.

"Minister!" James said with what was a decent attempt at surprise, drawing the attention of the entire courtyard as he quickly got to his feet to shake the man's hand. When Charlus stood too, Harry was suddenly not at all sure if he was supposed to join them. To his great surprise, it was Dumbledore who caught his eye and gave the most subtle of nods. Harry would never be grateful for the man in any sense. He was a bastard who Harry despised with all of his being at the moment, but an infinitesimally small part of him was grateful for his existence in that exact, precise moment in time. Taking his queue and internally cursing James for leaving him to hang and dry, Harry swept to his feet, mentally adding lessons in politics as something that needed to happen at some point. There was only so much one could learn of such an art from books.

When Crouch had finished shaking hands with James and Charlus, his dark eyes turned towards Harry and there was… something in his eyes. Coldness? Dislike? "Ah yes," he said and when he spoke, his voice was perhaps a bit clipped, but still certainly polite, "Heir Potter, at long last."

Harry smiled disarmingly at Crouch in a way that unknowingly put the man instantly even more on edge. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Minister." Harry said in the closest thing he could conjure to awe. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had told Crouch tales about him or if he was one of those who held a notorious dislike for anything and everything Slytherin. That would be something to research at a later date.

"Likewise, Heir Potter." Crouch's lie was convincing and effortless, but Harry knew it was nothing more than that — a lie. After all, Crouch had not reached the pinnacle of wizarding politics without becoming a proficient liar over the years. In Harry's estimation, such a thing would have been impossible.

There was companionable conversation made at the Potter's table throughout the entirety of the meal. Harry stayed quiet for most of it, but was occasionally dragged into the conversation. He would have just talked with Neville, but they were at opposite ends of the table. As a result, Harry had managed to do little more than return the boy's glances with a nod and a smile.

Finally, when the meal had ended, Harry obediently trailed behind James and Charlus for what was about two hours, but what actually felt like two days. Harry met dozens of important people in the process, but very few of them stuck out to him. They were all faces in the crowd, for the most part. It was very clear that James had been extremely selective in regards to who could and who could not attend this event. In translation, if you were not an explicitly "light" family, you were out. Finally, they met Madam Marchbanks, the Head of the Ministry's Board of Education, and before they could break off that conversation to turn to the throng of people gathered around them, she directed a question at Harry that took him a bit off guard.

"May I ask you a question that may confirm a rumour I have been hearing, Heir Potter?" For a second, Harry feared she was referring to him and Charlus's confrontation with Voldemort. Then, the logical part of his brain realized there was no way she could have known about that.

Once he had come to that realization, he smiled charmingly back at her. "Of course, Lady Marchbanks."

"I have not yet checked the public records to validate the rumour, but I had heard your end of year grades were rather remarkable?" She had clearly set Harry up to boast, but he didn't. He would not be a braggart today. If she asked him explicitly what his grades were, he would answer her, but he did not want to be the one to flaunt it in front of the media. He was no politician, but he had enough common sense to know that was not a good idea. "I had heard, even, that you had received several O+'s?"

At this, the throng of people gathered around their little group hushed, suddenly nearly as interested in the Potter Heir as they were The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry saw Charlus's eye twitch and suddenly knew that his brother was intensely annoyed that the center of attention had shifted away from him. "That's correct, Lady Marchbanks." Harry said politely, doing his best to draw this exchange out for the sole purpose of annoying his brother. Perhaps it was vindictive, but Harry needed something interesting to happen today.

Lady Marchbanks's greying brow raised. "Is it in fact true that you managed THREE O+'s, Mister Potter?"

Muttering followed her statement and Harry waited for it to finish, revelling in the look of surprise that showed on Charlus's face an instant before his jaw tightened in irritation. Only when the muttering ceased completely did Harry answer. "Yes, Lady Marchbanks."

"In which subjects?" she asked before the muttering could interrupt them once more.

"Charms, Transfiguration and Defense Against The Dark Arts." Harry answered casually, as if this was no big deal at all. The crowd around them clearly knew exactly how big of a deal this was, as the muttering suddenly was turned up to eleven.

Of course, if one was being realistic, first year grades really weren't that important in the grand scheme of things. But still, for a student to receive three of a mark that many people could not fathom was certainly worthy of some attention.

"What were your performances?" somebody called out and Harry realized only after glancing in their general direction that the question had been asked by a reporter.

"I'm sorry," he answered in an excellent imitation of an apologetic tone of voice, "but that's information I would rather keep private."

"Can you show us some magic?" somebody else asked. "Some of the things you might have done?"

Suddenly, Harry realized he had been backed into a corner. Unless his father outright told the crowd that he would not allow it, something Harry thought was unlikely, Harry was trapped. He could either back down and look like he was a liar, something he absolutely would not want associated with his name. Or, he could risk showing how advanced he really was. He would have to shoot for somewhere in the middle, though that balance would be difficult to find.

"I'm not sure-" James started, but he was cut off by another voice just as he started speaking and once again, Harry had to curse the name of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"Come now, James." Dumbledore said in a grandfatherly manner, stepping into the circle of onlookers with his legendary twinkle turned up to eleven. "We are in a controlled environment where we can all assure your son's displays do not get out of hand. It would not be proper to dismiss the frenzy of the media, would it?"

The worst part about the situation was that Harry sort of just had to tip his metaphorical hat to Dumbledore. It was clever. Dumbledore knew very little of Harry and clearly did not trust him in some regard. If he wanted to put out feelers or potentially get a read on where Harry may be at, this was an excellent way to do it. Now even more than before, Harry would have to be very careful in striking a comfortable middle ground.

"I… suppose if my father's ok with it." he answered diplomatically, realizing that the stares of the entire crowd were upon him.

In front of the entire crowd, Harry performed the end of year exams flawlessly. He did not do too much extra, just enough to pop the crowd. He made his tea cup's dancing routine particularly elaborate. He transfigured the mouse into a snuff box embroidered with the Potter family crest. And for defense, he performed several low level jinxes and hexes perfectly that were called out by the crowd. The entire time, it was blatantly obvious that Charlus was becoming more and more annoyed. Only when somebody asked him to transfigure a matchstick into a needle did Charlus lose his temper.

"Yeah, because that's really impressive." he muttered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, those nearest him in the crowd had heard him and promptly insisted he join. Now, Harry suddenly had a competition on his hand and all plans went out the window. Dumbledore and the press be damned, here was a chance to outdo his brother in public. He was not going to pass this up, even if he had to go a bit above and beyond what he had planned to do.

Charlus went first, transforming the matchstick into a needle with very little effort. Then, Harry went next. Instead of a simple silver needle, he added subtle but noticeable green accents, something which clearly annoyed Charlus. Before anybody could call out anything else, Charlus untransfigured the needle back into a matchstick and made his next needle bright red, glaring at Harry as he did so. The crowd were muttering as Harry smirked back at his brother and transfigured his now untransfigured matchstick into a green needle with silver trim and intricate snake carvings. Charlus set his jaw and transfigured a needle twice the size of what it should have been in Gryffindor colours with the Potter family crest displayed prominently on the needle.

The crowd actually applauded Charlus at this, who smirked victoriously back at Harry just as Harry caught James beaming at his son with unmasked pride. Now, just when people thought Charlus had won, Harry would stop holding back and end this once and for all. He waited for the crowd to be completely quiet before, making sure to keep eye contact with his brother the entire time and keeping a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, Harry tapped his wand against the matchstick.

"Avifors."

Instead of simply transfiguring the matchstick into a needle, Harry pulled out a second year spell — sort of. The second year expectation would be for him to use a large plate and conjure one or two birds. The reason for this was that it would allow the student to work at transfiguring a set amount of matter into less matter than what was originally there. In the simplest terms, transfiguring something large into something smaller or of less matter was easy. Transfiguring something small, like a matchstick, into something that contained far more matter, like a flock of birds, was far more difficult. It was at least third year material, but that didn't stop Harry from doing it seemingly without effort, actually drawing gasps and loud, ringing applause from the crowd. Honestly, Harry didn't much care about any of that.

The only thing he cared about was the furious, yet horrorstruck expression on his brother's face. Harry had outdone him and it could not be disputed. Not only that, but he had done it in front of Charlus's "adoring public" and that had made it all the more sweet.

Luckily for Charlus's dignity, his father chose that precise moment to step in, which, to Harry, only signified blatant favouritism. He told the crowd loudly and excitedly that they should move onto the opening of the twins' gifts.

This ordeal took quite a long period of time, especially because Charlus was expected to thank each person grandiosely in front of everybody. Harry hadn't been briefed on that part, shockingly, but he went with the flow and essentially copied his brother. The presentation of his Heir's Ring was much simpler. All he had to do was step forward, let his father put the ring on his finger and smile for the cameras. That actually wasn't hard, because there was an odd feeling of magic that had washed over him and if there was one thing Harry loved in this world, it was magic.

He thought it went alright, and by the time it had all ended and he, James, Pettigrew and Charlus were seeing people off, Harry actually thought the day as a whole had gone well. As soon as everybody had left, Harry told his father politely but curtly he would be leaving and though James looked rather pained and sour, he acquiesced. Harry figured he'd had a speech of some sort planned, but Harry was in no mood to hear it at the moment.

Before he left the house and portkeyed out, he was stopped one final time.

"Harry."

When he turned, he made sure he looked upon Pettigrew with the most innocent look of curiosity. He had no idea what it was about Pettigrew that unsettled him and put him on edge, but he didn't trust him — not even a little bit. "What is it, Peter?"

Pettigrew smiled at him and winked before pulling a package from his robes and handing it to Harry. "I know I gave you a gift for show that will be donated and all that, but I thought I'd get you something a bit more… personal. It's something I do each year for Charlus"

Harry smiled back at Pettigrew. "Thanks, Peter. I appreciate it." he paused. "Do you want me to open it now?"

Peter waved his hand. "Nah, open it back at wherever you're staying." he smiled. "Well, it's been great catching up with you and I'm sorry I can't talk more. I've got to go help your dad out with some things, but don't be a stranger, alright? If you ever need anything, anything at all," he paused, "even help with your dad, just let me know. I'm always here for you." he winked once more. "Happy birthday, Harry." And with that, the man left, allowing Harry to portkey back to Weitts Manor with a number of thoughts in his mind.

Only when he had returned to the comfort of his room and called a house elf to check the package for curses and the like did he open it. He could have asked Grace, Adriana or Sigmund to do it, but he felt as if whatever was in this box should be kept to himself.

He was right.

There were two large books within the fairly heavy package and a note. First, Harry scanned the title of both books and his eyebrows rose. One was _Descent Into Darkness: A Beginner's Guide To The Dark Arts._ The other was _Light or Dark: The Truth._ Harry furrowed his brow. Why on earth was Peter Pettigrew giving him a book on dark magic? Moreover, another book that seemed to discuss the whole "light and dark" magic debate? The only motive he could think of was to somehow set Harry up to get caught with them. Unfortunately for Pettigrew, Harry would be keeping these in a trunk protected with a chosen password — one that he had elected to speak in Parseltongue, and he would not be showing them to anyone anytime soon.

Still, there was a part of Harry who thought that was too obvious and that Pettigrew had a deeper, more sinister motive. Again, he didn't even know why he distrusted Pettigrew, he just… did. Unfortunately for Harry, as interesting as the attached note was, it did not help any with his internal dilemma.

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday!_

_I know this summer's been a bit rubbish for you and frankly, I wish James would have talked to me before just caving to Dumbledore. James grew up a spoiled little boy and I don't think he really understands what it's like to grow up in a household like yours. One of these days, maybe I'll break his habit of following Dumbledore blindly. That's why I plan on telling you to contact me anytime you need help — even if it involves your dad. He's a good man, but he doesn't see things clearly sometimes._

_Oh, and speaking of that, I'm sorry about Charlus. He'll come around, but what happened at the end of last year left some marks. For what it's worth, I don't think you're going dark, which is exactly why I'm giving you these books. They're both dead useful if they're not abused, but I trust you'll only use them in the appropriate way._

_Good catching up with you again and a final happy birthday from your favourite uncle!_

_Cheers,_

_Peter_

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I tried to learn from my mistake with Harry's initial meeting with James in the chapter "Samhain Part I" from first year. I hyped up that meeting far too much considering its contents. I knew going in that the gala would be significant, but not massively so. As such, I tried not to raise your guys' expectations to unrealistically high levels. **

**I do hope I succeeded and that you all enjoyed the chapter.**

**Bonus points to anyone who can piece together Peter's plan.**

**In regards to the system of mind magic in this story. I will be using a system similar to the one in The Sinister Man's "Harry Potter and The Prince of Slytherin".**

**The problem with mind magic is that literally every idea under the sun has been done. With that in mind, I figured I may as well use the system that I think is the best. I would seriously recommend reading "Prince of Slytherin", as I honestly think it's the best HP fanfic out there at present and if you enjoy this one, I am sure you will enjoy that one.**

**I will be making quite a few additions and changes to his mind arts system, particularly in the actual theory behind it, but it is my foundation and much will be the same.**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 18th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	24. SS Ch 6: Emotions and Enigmas

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 6: Emotions and Enigmas.**

* * *

_**August 1, 1992**_

_**Knockturn Alley**_

_**1:54 AM**_

Mundungus Fletcher was rather rudely awakened from his position, sleeping and sprawled out behind one of the many dilapidated shops that were dotted all through the sketchier side of the alley. He had only vague recollections of laying down here at all. Seeing as he had been drinking last night, such a thing was not overly surprising. Unfortunately, this meant that he woke up with quite the nasty hangover and as a result, quite the unpleasant mood. Mundungus had half a mind to curse the pricks who had woken him up, but when he spotted the two figures standing near him, all of those instincts were wiped clean from his mind.

Both of the figures were massive. Probably about six and a half feet tall and built like tanks. Beyond that, nothing of their appearances could be discerned, for they each wore long, black cloaks that covered their bodies and had their hoods pulled up over their heads. That meant that in the darkness brought on by the dead of night, Mundungus had no idea who his visitors were. Well, not who they were exactly, but he had a good idea as to why they were here.

"Does your boss have another job for old Dung?" Mundungus asked a bit hoarsely. It had been awhile since he had spoken to anybody at all and his voice did not seem to be eager to comply with the demands of his brain. He had seen these two figures before. After all, they stood out rather plainly, even without having ever seen their faces. Truthfully, Mundungus didn't care for either of them, but their boss paid well, which was all he could really ask.

"He does." the one on the right said in a deep, strong voice. "This job'll be complicated though, so take it or leave it."

Mundungus grunted and rolled his eyes. "How complicated we talkin'?" he asked, beady eyes narrowing upon the two of them. In hushed whispers, the two figures told Mundungus exactly what his job was and he simply stared back at them with widened eyes before shaking his head.

"Sorry boys," Mundungus told them, "no can do that one. That's a bloody difficult one. I dunno if I've even got the resources to pull it off. And that's not even talkin' about the risks and-"

"Are you not going to ask for the take before turning it down?" the other man grunted, sounding surprised, baffled, even.

Mundungus rolled his eyes. "Whatever it is, it ain't worth the time." he paused. "Jus'... jus' for fun though, go on and humour me." When the number had been spoken aloud, Mundungus's eyes practically bulged out of his head. He had never heard of a shady job paying out that much and absentmindedly, Mundungus wondered who the hell was forking out that kind of cash. He would be doubtful, but this mysterious acquaintance of his had never failed to pay up thus far and had even thrown in a bonus on his last job. Still, this one would be difficult, if not impossible. But then again, that money could keep him in a rented flat for years, let alone quench his rather destructive desires.

With a dramatic sigh one may expect from somebody who was about to agree to something very foolish, Mundungus slowly pushed himself into a sitting position and eyed the two gorilla-like men in front of him with an almost exasperated look. "Alright, alright — I'll do it."

* * *

_**August 1, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**9:13 AM**_

Harry entered the Weitts family dining room later than normal on the Sunday following the birthday gala. He had begun to read up on Ancient Runes with the help of the expansive family library at his disposal and had become rather entranced by his current reading. The fact that he would have to learn several ancient languages before he would likely be able to do anything with Runes beyond following basic instructions was irritating, to say the least. In saying that, the fact did not take away from his overall interest in the subject as a whole. As a result, Harry entered the sitting room to find only one figure at the table, sipping on her tea and appearing to be glancing at a copy of the _Daily Prophet._

"Good morning." Harry greeted politely, taking a seat across from Grace and pouring himself some tea of his own. As soon as he sat down, a small menu appeared in front of him, from which the elves would make whatever he chose. He decided on a rather conservative meal consisting of porridge and some fruit. Once he ordered, Grace, who happened to be the other figure at the table, looked up from her newspaper and tilted her head, appraising him curiously.

"You've made the paper." she told him, her voice completely neutral.

Harry gazed cautiously back at her. "I'm not entirely sure how I should feel about that." he answered honestly. "Who's the author? Skeeter?"

"No," Grace answered easily, "it's a name I've seen before, but not one who covers most of the major stories. It's nothing too scandalous, I just found the article to be interesting." Without another word, Grace slid the paper across the table to Harry, who looked down at the open page, careful to keep his expression blank as he read the article.

_**The Potter Twins' Dynamic Duel**_

_**By John Doe**_

_**As I am sure all in this country are aware, yesterday saw the fulfillment of the annual Gala held at Potter Manor designed to both celebrate the birthday of The-Boy-Who-Lived and raise funds for the Charlus Potter Charitable Fund. This year, however, there was a twist. Charlus's twin brother, who happens to be the Potter heir and older by several minutes, made his first public appearance at this event. As well as receiving his heir's ring from his father at the end of the gala, Heir Harry Potter found himself surrounded by quite the crowd of curious onlookers. **_

_**A member of the crowd, Griselda Marchbanks, Head of the Ministry's Educational Division asked Heir Potter about his apparent standout feats in terms of his academics. Upon further investigation after the fact, I can confirm that according to the exam records made public by the school each and every year, Harry Potter earned O+'s in Charms, Defense Against The Dark Arts and Transfiguration. While first year exam scores are by no means an indicator of future success, one can imagine why Madam Marchbanks may have been curious, both based upon her position and the unique nature of Harry Potter's achievement. **_

_**What followed her questions, however, left the rest of us in shock.**_

_**After a fair bit of probing, Harry Potter agreed to perform some basic feats of magic that may have been asked of him during the first year examinations. Where this story gets interesting is when his more famous brother, Charlus, decided to join the fray. For reasons unknown, Charlus seemed to wish to take part in this little game and we quickly had a battle of one-upmanship taking place between the Potter twins. By the end of the exchange, both boys had achieved some rather impressive magic for their age, but when Harry Potter performed a more advanced adaptation of the Avifors spell, which is not taught until second year, the show came to a close…**_

From there, the article summarized the very little that was known about Harry. His exam scores, the fact that he was in Slytherin House, and the fact that he was the Potter Heir, before signing off. Unlike the other writer for the _Prophet_, Rita Skeeter, this John Doe did not seem to be one for overdramatized speculations.

Harry shrugged. "Can you explain to me why this article was even written? It seems like such a waste of time. I mean, how is this news?"

"Your brother is probably the second most famous living person in the magical world." Grace said bluntly, as if explaining a simple concept to a small child. "Anything he does at a public event that is normal finds its way into the paper. This wasn't expected and it let them throw your name into the hat, the forgotten Potter Heir steeped in mystery and all that." she shrugged. "I'm honestly surprised that it isn't closer to front page news." she rolled her eyes. "Of course, it may have been, had the pages closer to the front not been dominated by the rest of the gala."

"Anything interesting?"

"Not particularly. It's all written by this same writer, and he doesn't seem one for speculation. I'm assuming your father didn't let Skeeter in. Personally, I'd be furious if I were Skeeter."

"And why is that?" Harry asked, interested in Grace's take on that bit of drama.

"People note that event down every year and it's always a highly sold addition of the _Prophet_ when it's reported on. By having this John Doe report it instead of Skeeter, he likely just made his name off of one _Prophet _and he could now pose as a threat to her position as the _Prophet_'s top writer. Plenty of people enjoy her speculative style, but a lot of people don't. Those people will gravitate towards this John Doe, at which point, her position at the top of the _Prophet_'s hierarchy and payroll may be in jeopardy."

Harry nodded slowly. He could not help but be impressed at how Grace's mind had put all of that together so quickly and effortlessly. It was the little things like that. They wouldn't have direct impacts in the world, but it could have more subtle undertones for certain. Those were the things that Harry knew he would need to get better at recognizing and Grace had done just that wonderfully. Before Harry could think up a new topic of discussion, Grace had broached one herself.

"Charlotte is at the Greengrass's and Mother and Father are out." she told him. "I was thinking that today could be a good day for your first lesson in Active Occlumency if you think that you're prepared for it?"

"I don't think I'll be any more or less prepared at any other time." Harry answered honestly, following her to his feet and exiting the room a few minutes later after finishing the rest of his meal. Again, Grace led him to her room and once inside, they both took seats on the bed once more.

When they were settled, Grace began with a question. "If I ask you about the stages of Occlumency, do you or do you not know what I'm talking about?"

"Vaguely. I know that Occlumency and Legilimency are both seven-tiered systems and that I would be considered a first level Occlumens."

Grace's face remained passive. "You have very solid reading material. Most people don't even realize that there are tiers at all. Do you understand why they are important?"

Harry shrugged. "Again, vaguely. I know that the tiers have to be completed in their specific order and that a person has to master the main parts of each tier before they can advance." he paused. "Subskills are also involved somehow, but I quite literally know nothing about that."

Grace's eyebrows rose. "You are remarkably well-informed." she noted. "Subskills are something that I'll explain later. For now they're not essential, but they are extremely useful if one has time for them. I won't be teaching you subskills because those are components of Passive Occlumency that can be learned on your own time as long as you fully trust whatever book you're reading." Harry nodded, accepting the fact.

"The first level of Occlumency centers mostly around the understanding of your mind. By learning to clear it, combined with the meditative exercises, you're subconsciously developing a natural understanding of your mind. The purpose of this is so that you can eventually detect intrusions and irregularities. Since you're still a level one Occlumens, you're not actually ready to learn how to actively defend yourself against Legilimency. For lack of a better phrase, you're still building the foundations. The first step is for you to actually be able to notice when somebody is launching a psychic attack on you in the first place."

Harry nodded slowly. "That makes sense." he said carefully. "How will I know when that happens? Like… describe the feeling, maybe? Or is it just subconscious?"

Grace thought about that. "A bit of both, honestly. Your mind will eventually detect that something isn't normal. It should almost feel like… something brushing against your mind, I suppose. At the beginning, you'll be actively searching your mind, so it should be easier since you're looking for it. Eventually, you'll build enough mental memory that your mind will just sense it instantly. Or, at least, instantly unless the attacker has a very high degree of skill."

"Could you attack my mind without me knowing?"

Grace quirked an eyebrow. "Right now? I could probably pull days of memories from your mind without you even realizing it, and I'm far from the best Legilimens around. I have quite a lot of raw talent for the art, but I've focused almost exclusively on Occlumency, for the most part."

Harry had to resist the urge to gulp. That thought was terrifying to say the least. "Okay, let me rephrase that. Could you attack the mind of an average Occlumens within the field without them knowing?"

Grace had to think that over. "Probably," she admitted, "but it would take a lot of focus at the moment." she shrugged. "My sister would honestly have a better chance at doing that than me, but I'd be able to defend my mind far, far better than her." That was a fact that Harry noted down for later use.

"So we'll be building mental memory, I'm assuming?"

"Exactly," Grace affirmed, "I'll be launching very light but very blunt Legilimency probes into your mind."

"Similar to the other day then?"

Grace paused. "There are… two ways we can do this." she explained. "The traditional way and the one that works fastest and best is to start with more blunt probes. This would mean that they would be a bit stronger than the one I used the other day. I wouldn't actively glean your thoughts, but if you didn't notice within a few minutes and I wanted to make it more obvious, which will almost definitely happen, there is a chance that I could get a flash of whatever you're thinking at that time."

Harry pursed his lips. He absolutely hated the thought of anybody in his mind seeing anything. He knew that on this occasion, it was paranoia. Grace would effectively only see what he allowed her to see, but it still made him uncomfortable. "And the other option?" he asked.

"We do it with similar probes to the other day. This makes it miles harder on you and will probably slow the process down by a few months, because it will be ages before you can even detect a probe at all, let alone with any amount of consistency."

Harry sighed. "Well then, I suppose we have to go with the first option."

Grace's lips twitched. "Just don't think of anything important to you. It really shouldn't be that difficult."

"I know; I just really dislike the thought of somebody in my head."

Grace rolled her eyes. "You're going to have to get used to it, because it's going to become more and more frequent and probably more invasive as we progress."

"Wonderful."

Grace laughed softly. "I'm humbled by your trust." When Harry made a face, Grace just laughed again. "Honestly, do you trust anybody?"

Harry actually had to think about that, even though he knew it was a rhetorical question. Did he trust anybody? He trusted Daphne, Blaise and Tracey far more than anyone else and he had trusted them enough last year to let them in on some major secrets, but he honestly couldn't say that he trusted any of them fully yet. After all, he had refrained from revealing anything about his encounter with Voldemort, or his Parseltongue ability, or anything else that he thought was too important in the grand scheme of things.

"Yes and no." he answered with a smirk, doing his best to play it off as a joke.

Grace's light laughter did continue, but he thought she had likely seen through the attempt at humour. "Well," she said a moment later, sliding her wand effortlessly from her sleeve and into her hand, "do you trust me enough to start?"

Harry sighed dramatically. "I suppose." he told her, and Grace took aim at his forehead. She did so in a slow, deliberate manner as not to startle him, but Harry still had to resist the urge to flinch and his fingers still twitched, as if to summon his own wand from its holster. Even if he wanted to, he doubted it would do him any good against her, but that was a thought better left untouched.

"Legilimens."

Grace spoke softly but clearly, and her enchanting, bluish silver eyes found his as she spoke. She seemed to do her best to maintain eye contact with him for the most part as he stared pensively back at her. He knew from his experiences with Charlotte that eye contact at least had some impact on Legilimency, but Grace glanced around the room every now and then, so Harry doubted it was essential. After about a minute, he grew confused.

"Have you started?" he asked her, flummoxed. "I thought the spell would have started it?"

Grace smirked. "The spell did start it, Harry. I've had a probe at the corner of your mind the entire time." When his jaw went slack, Grace's smirk widened. "I did warn you it would take time and that it would take at least several minutes before you noticed anything, didn't I?." she shrugged. "If you want proof, you were thinking about eye contact and its impact on Legilimency a few seconds ago. I haven't checked since."

'Shit.'

From that moment on, Harry tried to do his best to turn his mind inwards and search for the probe, but it did not come easily. After a few minutes, Grace instructed him to clear his mind completely and continue the process. At first, this made no difference, but after about five minutes of this he felt… something? It was difficult to explain but it was like what Grace had described. It was something… unnatural. Surprisingly, it didn't feel particularly invasive, just… curious?

"Got it!" Harry exclaimed and just as he said it, he felt the presence retreat.

"So you did." Grace told him with a small smile. "Sorry for the late instruction. I should've told you to clear your mind earlier, but I suppose I just sort of expected you to do it. I didn't realize you hadn't until I brushed your mind again and realized it was still active."

"Was that bad then?" Harry asked, frowning.

"No," Grace said without hesitation, "it was actually above average once you cleared your mind. I would honestly be stunned if you managed to detect anything with an active mind at this point no matter how long you tried. It took you about five minutes after clearing your mind. I think the average is somewhere between eight and ten, so you're well above average."

"How fast were you?" Harry asked, vaguely curious. He had no idea why he was being so open with his asking of questions. Grace had a similar sort of air to Hurst — or, he supposed, Voldemort, in a lot of ways. Neither of them seemed particularly adverse to questions. They both almost seemed to invite them, at least when in private, and Harry found it easier to be open with them.

Grace shrugged. "I was an exception." she said. "It only took me two or three minutes, and my sister was around the same. You could say we have a sort of… affinity for mind magic." she raised her wand again. "Are you ready for another round?"

* * *

_**August 5, 1992**_

_**Malfoy Manor**_

_**9:03 AM**_

Draco actually gaped openly at his father. He tried his best to remember a time when he had ever had a request denied so bluntly. He could remember on a few occasions his father saying no to some of his more outlandish requests, but honestly, he struggled to ever remember a time when his father had denied him anything material.

"Wipe that unbefitting expression from your face at once, Draco." Lucius ordered him harshly and Draco quickly obeyed. "Is it truly so baffling to you that I would deny such a presumptive request after the utter incompetence you showed this year?"

"But Father-"

"Silence!" Draco fell quiet as soon as his father's voice rang through the room. He had rarely ever heard his father raise his voice. It was not a good sign. Unbidden, the memory of his first talk with his father from the first night he returned to the manor swam to the forefront of his mind and he winced. His father had never cursed him before that night.

Lucius stood and for a moment, Draco drew back, fearing he would be cursed again. Instead of cursing his son and heir, Lucius began to pace back and forth, wringing his hands as he did so. When he stopped pacing, he closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath before opening his eyes once again and meeting his son's stare.

"I have made a severe mistake in raising you." Lucius said bluntly. "I have pampered you beyond belief without making you earn any of the immaculate gifts you have been given." he scowled. "I've let your mother to have too much control. She has always had a sort of weakness for those closest to her and I have allowed her to coddle you for too long." Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "You can have the broom," Lucius decided, shocking Draco with his change of pace, "if," he continued, "and only if you make the Slytherin House team on your own merits, using your current broomstick."

"But father, they'll all be on faster brooms. It's not-"

"Life isn't fair, Draco. This is the mistake I have made. I have raised you in a way that will allow you to complain repeatedly that life isn't fair. Yet, you stand before me in one of the largest, most ostentatious pureblood homes in England. No, Draco, life isn't always fair, but us Malfoys use that to our advantage. We do not whine over such inevitabilities. From here on out, you will act like a Malfoy and not simply flaunt the name. From here on out, you shall be spoiled like a Malfoy, but only if the qualities in which we practice and preach are displayed prominently and used as the weapons that they should be."

Lucius's eyes found Draco's, and there was an intensity there that the young boy had never seen before. "And only if you refrain from tarnishing anymore of the reputation that our ancestors have worked so tirelessly to achieve and maintain for generations." he paused, as if debating something. "A new era is on the horizon, Draco. When the time comes to usher in this era, I can't have my son and heir be weak, naive or pathetic. I cannot have any weaknesses in this family. When the time comes, we must all be ready."

* * *

_**August 12, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**8:12 AM**_

When Harry finished reading over the list of necessary books that had been enclosed within his Hogwarts letter, he looked up and towards the two Weitts sisters, both of whom had also finished their reading. Charlotte had a positively glowing smile on her face the likes of which Harry had never seen there before. Seeing her like that made Harry think of what it had felt like for him more than a year earlier when he too had received his Hogwarts letter. Absentmindedly, he wondered why they were so much later this year. Perhaps that was another question he would ask. First though, he turned to Grace, not wanting to snap Charlotte out of her gleeful reverie.

"Did you have to buy a bunch of books by this Lockhart bloke?"

Grace nodded but tilted her head. "I did," she told him, "his entire collection, actually. Have you never heard of him before?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, I haven't, actually. Why? Should I have?"

"Not really," Grace answered, but Harry could tell that there was something… off about that statement that he couldn't quite place. "He's quite famous, but I don't suppose you would have had any reason to know of him. I just thought you may have read the name somewhere."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Care to enlighten me?" he asked Grace, still tuning out the excited and emotional conversation going on behind him between Charlotte and Adriana. It was not his place to intrude on such a personal moment.

"He's sort of a folk hero, I guess you could call him." Grace said, losing her battle with the soft smile she was shooting her sister's way. "He's travelled all over the world since the fall of Voldemort." Harry had to resist the widening of his eyes when Grace referred to Voldemort by her proper alias. He was sure that she noticed his surprise, but he managed to keep the more obvious signs of surprise off of his face, so she didn't comment. "He's carried out a bunch of feats of bravery and the like." she shrugged. "You'll hear about it this year, I'm sure."

Harry nodded but paused. "Isn't it a bit… odd for whoever the professor is to suggest the same books for second and seventh years?"

"Oh, there's another book for us on here too for his subject." Grace noted. "Lockhart probably just came to some sort of agreement with the school to help boost sales in exchange for discounted books for their charity, or something. Those books will be enough to teach second years, but the teacher will probably use this other book for the most part in terms of teaching my year." Just then, Grace was interrupted by Charlotte, who leaned over her older sister and wrapped her arms tightly around Grace, still clearly high off the reception of her Hogwarts letter. Grace gave up trying to act pensive and swept to her feet, wrapping her younger sister up in a hug of her own.

Harry had never actually seen the two of them show any real sort of affection towards each other in public in spite of Grace's obvious love for her sister, and the sight caused the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards. When they broke apart, Harry noticed that Grace playfully shoved Charlotte away from her, but she couldn't hide the smile on her face that gave her away. "Don't act so surprised." Grace told Charlotte lightly. "We all knew you were going to get the letter."

"I know that," Charlotte said excitedly with a roll of her eyes, "but it's a different thing to actually HAVE the letter!"

Grace just sighed dramatically. "If you insist."

Charlotte turned to Harry and for a second, he thought she was going to hug him too, a thought that surprised him as much as it put him off. Clearly, Charlotte thought better of it, for instead, she simply shot him a bright smile. "Sorry about butting into your conversation." she said, but Harry noticed that she didn't sound overly sorry.

In response, he just smiled back up at her from his spot at the table. "I can't blame you for being excited." he told her honestly. "Congratulations, Charlotte, I'm sure you'll love Hogwarts."

* * *

_**August 19, 1992**_

_**Diagon Alley, Summer Isles**_

_**11:23 AM**_

It had only been hours after receiving their Hogwarts letters that Harry and Charlotte both received letters from Daphne asking if they wanted to do their shopping in Diagon Alley together. Clearly, Adriana and Sigmund had also been contacted, likely by the Greengrass parents. This fact was what drove Harry, Charlotte, Grace, Adriana and even Sigmund, who had managed to get far enough ahead in his business to take the day off to meet up with Daphne, Astoria, Celia and Cyrus Greengrass, along with Tracey inside Summer Isles.

Summer Isles, as it turned out, was an extremely high class, extremely expensive restaurant in Diagon Alley. Harry had never even known that this place existed, which wasn't overly surprising when one took into account that it was normally only frequented by the richest of pureblood families, thus he had no reason to know about it. It wasn't like James Potter had ever gone out of his way to explain anything like this to his son and heir. The room they dined in was absolutely breathtaking. It had an enchantment clearly similar to the one used on the Great Hall's ceiling at Hogwarts, except it was applied to the walls. Aside from that, the main difference was that instead of seeing the night sky reflected upon the walls, they saw the most stunning coastal view one could possibly imagine.

Harry was quiet for most of the meal, content to observe the conversation that had been kept up by the others in the room. When they had all finished their meal, the group divided. Grace went off to meet up with some of her friends, and Harry, Daphne and Tracey did likewise, bringing Charlotte along with them. Ideally, they would have been meeting up with Blaise as well, but he was still on vacation in Italy. Apparently, it would be a family associate who did the shopping in the Zabini household. The parents and Astoria were going back to their respective homes. Sigmund seemed reluctant to allow Charlotte to go with the three second years, but he did not stop Adriana from giving their youngest daughter her blessing to do so.

As Harry, Daphne, Tracey and Charlotte walked through the alley, Harry could not help but allow his eyes to be attracted to most of the displays they passed. He had now spent a year in this magnificent world of magic, but it still felt every bit as fantastical as it had on that first day more than a year ago. He was thankful, not for his father, but for the admittedly generous amount of money that James had sent him the day after the Hogwarts letters had been sent out. Obviously, James knew that Harry would be shopping and smartly, he had not imposed himself upon his eldest son, instead sending him far more money than he would need for Diagon Alley. Harry sincerely hoped that James didn't think he could be bought simply because he was a Slytherin.

That was perhaps the one area that James hadn't failed him in yet. He genuinely did not seem to care what colour Harry's robes were. Unfortunately, he also seemed to be Albus Dumbledore's personal puppet, so there was that to contend with and Harry had a strong feeling that fact would be insurmountable. He was still conflicted about James in some regards but by this point, Harry knew with one hundred percent certainty that he would never trust his father again and that he would likely never have any feelings for the man. He had blown any chance of that when he had promised Harry he would not return to the Dursleys and then failed to make good on said promise.

"Harry?" Charlotte said, bringing him back to the present.

"Yeah… sorry, I spaced out there a bit."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I think you do that more than anybody else I know." she commented. When the most she got in terms of a reaction was a quirked eyebrow, Daphne sighed.

Then, Charlotte spoke up again. "Daphne and Tracey seem to disagree on which House I'll be going to." Tracey's eyes widened and Daphne just looked exasperated.

"How do you do that?" Tracey asked her. "We didn't even say anything!"

Charlotte shrugged. "You're a very loud thinker, Tracey." When Daphne looked mildly outraged, Charlotte raised her hands in placation. "And no, I wasn't trying to legilimize her." she winced, casting a quick sideways glance at Harry. "I'm… at a stage of Legilimency where I'm trying to get better without a wand." she winced for a second time. "I'm… very good at it, but my problem right now is control. I can kind of… tell when somebody is thinking something really intensely, or get their general mood or impression." she looked a bit sheepish. "I've always been able to do that, but right now, while I'm trying to improve the ability, it's becoming hard to turn off at times."

"That actually sounds horrible." Daphne commented.

Charlotte shrugged. "I won't have to put up with it forever. It's just until I get enough control to turn off the ability." Harry had to resist the urge to glance at Charlotte. All of that sounded far too familiar. Mind you, he could not simply glean somebody's thoughts by standing near them, but if he focused, he had usually been able to tell what general topic somebody was thinking about. And there was the bit that very few people could lie to him and get away with it. Suddenly, he was left questioning whether or not this mysterious sixth sense of his was some form of subconscious Legilimency. But that in and of itself made absolutely no sense. Legilimency was a very precise art guided by intent. To use it subconsciously was literally a contradiction of the thing itself.

He jolted a second later when Charlotte snapped her fingers right in front of his face. With a blink, Harry shook his head. "Yeah… sorry, again."

Charlotte shot him a rather calculating stare, but she did not elaborate as to why. "Well, let's settle this, shall we? Daphne thinks I'm a shoe in for Slytherin, and Tracey thinks I'll end up in Ravenclaw. So, Harry, which house do you think I'll be in?"

"Slytherin." Harry said without a second thought. He didn't need any more context to make the decision.

Charlotte smirked as Daphne shot a smug look at Tracey, who rolled her eyes. "You've been doing lessons for years!" Tracey argued.

"Yes, but that's because she's ambitious." Daphne said, drawing air quotes around the last word. Harry also thought the Weitts family probably had something to do with that, but he didn't voice that thought aloud.

"Aww, thanks Daphne!" Charlotte said, pretending to be moved by the statement. Daphne shoved Charlotte playfully, and in response, Charlotte just laughed.

"Ok, sure. But she also HATES not knowing things! And I mean HATES IT!"

This time, Charlotte mock glared at Tracey, but everybody knew that she couldn't deny the accusation. Still, that sentiment hit a little bit too close to home for Harry to just leave unchallenged. "So do I." he said quietly, pulling all three girl's attention onto him. "That's me in a nutshell and I'm not an eagle." Tracey didn't really seem to have a good response for that.

"Yeah," Daphne muttered with a roll of her eyes, "but you're a special case."

Harry sighed dramatically. "I just backed you up and now you have to go and single me out like that?"

"Sorry, Harry, but it's true." Daphne said with a smile.

"Anyways," Harry said, diverting the conversation away from what could have possibly either been a light jab or a backhanded compliment, "Charlotte's one hundred percent going to be a Slytherin, Tracey, trust me." As he said this, he remembered the way Charlotte had essentially manipulated her mother, last Samhain, in order to ensure that Harry did not have to return to James. There was cunning there for certain, and the air that Charlotte carried about her practically screamed of Slytherin House. As if she could read his thoughts or more precisely, his memories, Charlotte shot him a small, nearly imperceptible smile. Harry supposed she actually might be reading his thoughts, but he somehow doubted it.

Tracey huffed indignantly just as the quartet entered Twilfitt and Tattings. It was a more high-end robes shop in Diagon Alley as opposed to Madam Malkin's. Privately, Harry wondered what jobs Tracey's step parents had in the muggle world. These kinds of robes weren't cheap. There was also the possibility that the Weitts family, or more likely the Greengrasses, simply paid for her as well, he supposed. They had done so for Summer Isles, as they had for Harry, but that had been a sort of occasion. As they entered the high-end robes shop, they were greeted with four familiar faces that took them all a bit aback.

"Fancy seeing you three here." Cassius Warrington greeted his young trio of friends with a grin just as he stepped off of the stool after being fitted with a new set of robes. Currently, both Hestia and Flora were being fitted and Calypso, who had evidently already been, was peering critically at a rather immaculate looking dress. With her back turned, she hadn't noticed their entrance but when Cassius spoke, she turned around and her soft, angelic face broke into a genuine smile at the sight of the three, now second year Slytherins, who had entered the shop.

"Harry!" Calypso greeted first, beaming at him before greeting both Daphne and Tracey. "I have a bone to pick with you." Calypso told Harry after the reunions were out of the way. Harry became wary, trying to remember what, if anything, he may have done to Calypso. When his mind came up empty, he just peered expectantly back up at her. "I wrote you about five letters in the first few weeks of summer and you never answered any of them."

Harry had to clamp down hard on his emotions not to show a visible reaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Daphne shooting him a brief, sideways glance that he was fairly sure Calypso caught. Charlotte gave away nothing, but he was sure that she and Daphne were thinking along the same lines. To Tracey's credit, she too gave nothing away. It appeared when a secret was close to Tracey's heart, she actually could keep it, something that Harry viewed as truly miraculous given her track record with secrets.

"I didn't get any mail in the first few weeks of summer." Harry said carefully. "Not because you didn't send it to the right person or anything like that, just that I wasn't in a position to receive it." Calypso looked vaguely curious and Cassius even more so, but both of them seemed to realize that Harry wouldn't explain any further. As usual, the Carrows looked completely impassive as the two of them stepped away from the witches fitting them and greeted Harry. They also greeted Daphne and Tracey politely but not quite as warmly as the other two. Harry got a greeting slightly warmer than his two friends.

He thought he was starting to understand small bits of the Carrows. They didn't care about your name. Well, that wasn't completely accurate. Your name could put you on their radar. It could get you in the door, one might say. If you truly wanted their respect, however, it was something that you had to earn over time. Harry had done so, mainly through his practices with the older students. Daphne and Tracey hadn't been along on any of those nights, so they had yet to earn the twins' respect.

When the initial greetings had concluded, Calypso turned to peer slightly down at Charlotte. For a second, it seemed as if Calypso was puzzled as to who she was. Then, a look of dawning comprehension crossed her face. Privately, Harry thought it was the eyes that had given Charlotte away. Harry had never quite seen eyes like those of Charlotte, Grace and Adriana, but they were a very distinctive feature.

"Charlotte... Weitts?" Calypso asked, and Harry had never heard her voice so carefully modulated. It projected a definite air of politeness and respect that was very uncharacteristic for a now fifth year speaking to a not-yet first year.

Harry was sure that Charlotte noticed, but she didn't comment. Instead, she simply bowed her head in respect, acknowledging that Calypso's house status of Ancient and Most Noble technically outranked her own before she extended her hand. When Calypso took it, she spoke. "I'm Charlotte, yes. You're the Rosier heiress, right? Calypso, I think?"

"Correct," Calypso said with a warm smile, glancing curiously from Charlotte to Harry. It was so fast that most would've missed it but Harry didn't, nor did Daphne, judging by the narrowing of her eyes. Charlotte may have, since she wasn't paying much attention to that sort of thing by the look of it, but she also may have surprised Harry and not missed it at all. "Are you going to be a first year starting in September?" Calypso asked.

Charlotte smiled a wide, genuine smile. "I am," she told the older Slytherin, "I'm honestly really looking forward to it."

Calypso smiled back at her easily. "I'd say that I hope to see you in Slytherin, but I honestly doubt there's any real mystery as to where you'll go." Charlotte smiled at Calypso one final time before the two broke apart and she was introduced to the other three. Even the Carrows' greeting was uncharacteristically polite and suddenly, Harry realized just how much influence Grace held with her status at the helm of Slytherin House.

"Here for your school stuff, I'm guessing?" Cassius asked as a way of changing the topic of conversation. When all four of them nodded, he glanced to Calypso, who gave a subtle nod of her own.

"We'll wait for you four if you'd like to do your shopping with us." Calypso offered, to which the four younger students agreed before getting their own set of robes before exiting the shop in a group of eight now as opposed to four. "Where's Zabini?" Calypso asked offhandedly. "You four usually seem to travel all together or in ones or twos, not usually in threes."

"Italy," Harry answered, "vacationing with his mum."

"Wish I was somewhere like Italy right about now." Cassius said. "Flint'd probably kill me though."

Charlotte glanced at both Harry and Daphne and when she realized neither of them had the answers she was looking for, she asked, "Why would Flint kill you?"

"Quidditch." the Carrow twins both answered as one, sounding an odd mixture of exasperated and bored.

When Charlotte just raised a brow, Calypso elaborated. "The lunatics practice all summer." It was pretty obvious from the tone of her voice what she thought of such a usage of Cassius's time.

"Have you found another seeker yet?" Tracey asked cautiously, not quite knowing how to tread in regards to the topic of Higgs and his untimely demise.

Cassius scowled. "Flint says he might've found someone, but he's keeping it all hushed up at the moment. I have no idea who he's on about." This time, it was Charlotte's gaze that flickered and for the briefest of seconds, it landed on Harry. Before he could think much on the fact, however, the eight of them were halted by an absolutely massive line that stretched out from the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. Unfortunately for the octet, Flourish and Blotts was the next stop that all of them needed to make.

"Well," Cassius deadpanned, "this will be delightfully entertaining."

Calypso rolled her eyes. "Don't be foolish, Cassius. Follow me." Without another word, Calypso began strolling through the line of gathered witches and wizards as if she owned the place. Baffled, Harry furrowed his brow and followed. Cassius too looked confused, but evidently, Daphne was not, for she quickly whispered to Harry, Tracey and Charlotte that the Rosier family was a majority stakeholder in Flourish and Blotts. And just like that, the party of eight quickly found themselves right near the front of the line. As they entered the shop, it became apparent exactly why the bookshop, which was admittedly busy on the best of days, seemed to be the only place to be on a seemingly random summer's day.

Plastered everywhere were posters, all of which boldly proclaimed the same message. Gilderoy Lockhart, the wizarding folk hero that Grace had told Harry about would be signing autographs today in celebration of his autobiography, _Magical Me, _which Harry assumed must be a new release. As a matter of fact, their group was just in time to spot two figures with messy black hair strolling up to the man himself. When Harry saw them, he tensed. The figures were unmistakably his brother and his father. Harry tensed further when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, but he relaxed marginally when he realized it was Daphne.

Just then, Gilderoy Lockhart swept to his feet, loudly exclaiming that it couldn't be Charlus Potter. Then, Charlus and Lockhart posed for a picture. Unfortunately, before the display had concluded, Peter Pettigrew, who stood beside James, whispered something in his ear, prompting James to do the same to Lockhart. Next thing Harry knew, Gilderoy Lockhart's baby blue eyes were fixed upon him and he realized with mounting horror what was about to happen.

"But of course," Lockhart said loudly enough for the whole shop to hear him, "Charlus Potter is just one-half of a set!" Lockhart allowed the murmuring to rise in volume once more and die down before he continued. "Why, his brother too has been making headlines as of late for his incredible achievements! I think it only fair that both Potters get the shine they deserve, even if one of them isn't quite as notorious as the other." Lockhart gave a short laugh before gesturing grandiosely for Harry to join him and Charlus. The latter was glaring at Harry. More specifically, he was glaring at Cassius, Calypso and the Carrows, but his eyes kept flickering back towards Harry in an unmistakable gesture.

For a moment, Harry's mind raced through various methods that could possibly be used to get him out of the situation. If he had more time, he had no doubt he could have come up with something. Unfortunately, Harry did not have endless amounts of time on his hands at the moment and before he could come up with anything, both Charlotte and Daphne were nudging him forward, the latter shooting him an encouraging smile. Clearing his mind and forcing his trademark, artificial smile onto his face, Harry strode forwards with as much confidence as he could muster as he took his stance beside Lockhart, standing on the opposite side of him than the one occupied by his brother. Lockhart wrapped an arm around Harry, who stiffened, his smile faltering.

"Smile nice and wide, boys." Lockhart whispered through his own perfect grin. "Between me and Charlus here, we're worth the front page, and we'll get you some notoriety too." he told Harry as if it was the greatest gift a man could give. Immediately, Harry decided that Lockhart was either a fraud or a prat who went around trying to save the world for attention. He had no idea which of them he was, but he was sure of two things. Somebody this naturally pompous could not possibly be a good person and in this moment, he despised Gilderoy Lockhart nearly as much as he did his father.

Mercifully, the pictures did not take long, but less fortunately, Lockhart's arm tightened around both Harry and Charlus as he cleared his throat, clearly preparing to make a grand announcement to the assembled crowd of admirers.

"When the Potter twins here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, they only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present them now, free of charge," the crowd applauded again, "they had no idea however," Lockhart continued, giving both Harry and Charlus a little shake that greatly annoyed the former and made the latter's glasses slip to the end of his nose, "that they would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. They and their schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against The Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

Harry could only think how typical this was. He sincerely hoped that Lockhart was just a self-centered prat and not incompetent. It was kind of inevitable that no matter who they had, it would be a step down from last year in terms of the lesson quality. In saying that, Harry still would much rather learn something this year. Even if he knew the entire curriculum and then some, which he did, a good teacher would still manage to impart something onto him. He had a feeling that Lockhart would likely not fall into this category. It was with that in mind that he walked away from Lockhart a bit sourly.

When he rejoined his friends, struggling under the weight of his newly acquired stack of books, he could only comment one thing as they began to prowl through the store, trying to find everything it was that they needed. "He's either the most self-centered person I've ever met, or he's somehow faked all of it and he's completely useless." Many of his groupmates seemed to agree with the latter, but as they split up to get their respective books, Harry felt a light touch on his arm. When he turned, he met the silvery-eyed stare of Charlotte.

"Just to let you know, there's a lot more to him than that." she said and before he could question her further, she was off to collect her own books. Then, before Harry could do likewise, several voices drew his attention. There, not ten feet away from him were Draco Malfoy, Charlus Potter and a small, red-headed girl who Harry assumed was another Weasley.

From what Harry could glean, it appeared as though Malfoy was taking the mickey out of the two Weasleys for their lack of financial security. A minute or so later, Draco showed his true colours when two people whom Harry assumed were Ron's parents stepped up behind him. Then, Harry's attention was caught by a voice he had only heard twice before. Once had been at the Samhain gathering, and the other had been in Snape's office near the end of his first year at Hogwarts.

"My word, Arthur Weasley." Lucius Malfoy stepped up beside his son as he spoke, resting a firm hand on Draco's shoulder. His face showed off a perfectly calm, perfectly polite expression, but Harry could see the obvious intent in his eyes.

"Lucius." Arthur Weasley responded curtly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear." Lucius drawled. "All those raids, I do hope they're paying you overtime." As he said this, Lord Malfoy reached swiftly into the youngest Weasley's cauldron before withdrawing a very battered version of _A Beginner's Guide To Transfiguration. _"Obviously not." he said with a click of his tongue. "What is the point of being a disgrace to the name of 'wizard' if they aren't even paying you well for it."

Then, as Arthur Weasley flushed a frankly astonishing shade of red, Harry suddenly realized exactly where Ron had inherited that most amusing ability from. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of a wizard, Malfoy."

"Clearly," Lucius hissed in barely more than a whisper, allowing his eyes to flick towards two people whom Harry hadn't even noticed. Judging by the fact that Hermione Granger stood very nearby them, Harry could only assume that they were her parents. Then, Harry saw the familiar figures of James, Charlus and Pettigrew making their way towards the conversation and he thought it was about time for him to take his leave. Unfortunately, he was never given that option, as Lord Malfoy continued. "My, the company you keep, and I thought your family could sink no lower." It was very clear that Arthur Weasley was seconds away from throwing himself towards Lord Malfoy but before he could, James's voice cut smoothly into the conversation.

"Let me guess, Malfoy. Harassing a good family about being blood traitors just because they don't bow to your beliefs and help fill your pockets?"

Harry could have winced at his father's bluntness, but Malfoy Sr. showed no visible reaction, though Draco did flinch, if only marginally. "Why, Potter, I can assure you that I have very specific reasoning for my opinion of Arthur Weasley." he sneered. "By example, the disgraceful Muggle Protection Act that I am sure you worked oh so hard to pass for your poor, pitiful friend."

James's jaw tightened as Peter placed a hand on both James's and Arthur's shoulders. "And what's wrong with the Muggle Protection Act, Malfoy?"

"Oh, nothing at all, Potter. Aside from the fact, of course, that it does very little to protect the poor muggles at all." his eyes gleamed. "What it does do is give your friend Weasley the authority to… act above his station, one might say." Harry made a mental note to look up this "Muggle Protection Act" because this was the first time he had heard about it. Then, Lucius Malfoy's eyes flickered over to Harry moments before he could make his exit. "Even if the act was put in place by somebody competent as to assure its usefulness," Lord Malfoy continued, the gleam in his eyes now obvious, "I would argue that the muggles do not need protecting from us." Malfoy then locked eyes with Harry for the first time. "Isn't that right, Heir Potter?"

Suddenly, Harry was kicking himself for not walking away earlier. He really needed to work on curbing his natural curiosity. He was indeed a very curious person by nature. He thought that spending most of his life in a cupboard may have had something to do with that. Whether he liked it or not though, this was now the second time this quirk of his had led him into an unfavourable situation. The first had been when he walked into Malfoy Jr's trap. And that wasn't counting the confrontation at the end of last year as stemming from curiosity. Now, he had allowed himself to be pinned into a proverbial corner by Malfoy Sr. The worst part was that if Harry answered in the positive, he would seriously irritate his father. If he answered in the negative, he may seriously irritate his friends. If he answered in the neutral, he may avoid the outright scorn of any of them, but he would suddenly draw the suspicion of all of them. And that was not even accounting for the fact that there really wasn't a good, neutral answer here. In spite of that, Harry simply had to do his best on the fly.

"I'm sure that the Ministry is much more qualified than me to answer that question, Lord Malfoy." Harry answered respectfully. "But… I do think it might be best if wizards look into muggles before passing laws in the future." As soon as he said it, Harry knew that it had not quite come out as neutral as he had been hoping for. He hadn't wanted to give a non-answer in fear of it being taken the wrong way by both sides. Unfortunately, that answer had drawn hateful glares from Ron and Charlus, a rather calculating stare from Pettigrew, a shocked, semi-horrified expression from James and a small, victorious smirk from Lord Malfoy.

"So glad we are in agreement, Heir Potter." he said, smirk still in place. "I would be happy to answer any questions you may have on matters you do not feel… qualified to speak on in the future. I am sure your owl can find me." Then, his grip tightened on Draco's shoulder. "Come, Draco, we are leaving."

"As are we." Calypso muttered, making Harry tense when she wrapped a rather protective arm around him and guided him out of the book shop before he could feel the wrath of his family and their friends, allowing the rest of their group to trail in their wake.

* * *

_**August 21, 1992**_

_**An Undisclosed Location**_

_**2:23 PM**_

"Pathetic." Mister Bellona chided as Charlus snarled in frustration once more. He had been trying to get the Lacero curse to work for weeks now with absolutely no success. He had managed most of the other spells that Mister Bellona had taught him, but this one simply would not work. "An incantation is not enough, you foolish child." his instructor scolded, and when Charlus looked confused, his tutor's expression soured. "Magic is not about incantations, it is about intent, as we have discussed already. The spell you are simply trying to cast with a mere incantation is one that is fundamentally centered around intent! You need to crave for the damage done by the Lacero curse. You must truly wish for your adversary to feel such damage. If you do not, you will never manage more than foolishly shouting at the target, who will simply laugh at your pathetic attempts each and every time."

"Then tell me what to do!" Charlus exclaimed in pure, unadulterated frustration. As soon as he said it, he flinched back. Outbursts were not tolerated, nor were interruptions. Let alone a rather aggressive outburst that was also a blatant interruption.

To his surprise, however, Mister Bellona did not raise his wand. Instead, the figure tilted his head, and Charlus could imagine it's hooded face staring speculatively back at him. "For now," it told him, "you will need a crutch." When Charlus looked confused, the figure elaborated. "You must truly desire the damage to be wrought. So, in place of said intent that seems so non-existent within you, you will conjure up an image in your mind that will make you want to cause that damage. I do not care what that image is, but the next time you cast that spell, it will be with a clear image in mind — one that will cause your blood to boil and your heart to pump faster. One that will cause your brain to begin to grasp the intent that you lack so utterly in your spell casting."

Charlus closed his eyes and took several, deep breaths. Most of that had gone way over his head, but he thought he understood the basics. He would need to imagine something that made him angry. No, not angry — furious. He would need to imagine something that made him so furious that it would make him want to cause damage.

Amusingly, the first image was of Mister Bellona, raising his wand to curse him for yet another outburst. He dismissed it quickly. Mister Bellona and his archaic teaching habits were certainly infuriating, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. His next thought was of Voldemort. A few months ago, he was sure it would have worked. Now, instead of the raw, uncontextualized hatred that he once felt when thinking of his mother's murderer, there were more… complicated emotions. He still hated her with a burning passion but there was one problem. There was also the self-hatred and self-doubt there, and he was not sure that either of those two things would help the spell in any way, shape or form.

As frustration mounted, Charlus tried to think. He tried to remember the last time he was indisputably furious at something. Then, it came to him. It was not the image he would have thought of. In fact, he would have never dreamed of using such an image, but it was not so much the image itself as much as everything it signified. As he thought this, Charlus's heart rate quickened and he could feel his face flush. Then, with a slightly shaky hand, Charlus raised his wand and slashed it viciously towards the dummy.

"Lacero!"

A purple distortion in the air later, the dummy was lying prone with a massive gash running through its center. Almost clinically, Mister Bellona examined Charlus's handiwork before nodding in an almost approving sort of way. "Adequate." he said, turning back to face Charlus. "I do not suppose you would endeavour to tell me which memory you used?"

Charlus shook his head. He would never. After all, how could he possibly reveal what made him more furious than anything else? How could he possibly reveal that the image of his brother, endorsing the anti-muggle beliefs of Lucius Malfoy made him more furious than his mother's murderer. True, there was more to it than that. A large part of his anger did not come from Harry himself, but the situations surrounding him. A large part of his anger came from what they should have been. The two of them should have been brothers, inseparable members of one happy family. This, Charlus wanted above all else — the Mirror of Erised had even shown him as much.

But instead, Harry had been sorted into the breeding ground for dark witches and wizards. Instead, Charlus had slowly lost his brother over the past year to the influences of the Conservatives. Charlus had been concerned after their encounter with Voldemort down in the catacombs.

Now, he was certain of it.

Harry Potter, his twin brother, was surely lost to those of darkness, and that thought made Charlus more angry than any other.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**This chapter was astonishingly difficult to write. Even more so because I expected it to be quite easy. In saying that, the next chapter is more straightforward and it posed me almost no trouble at all.**

**In the next chapter, Harry and his friends will finally return to Hogwarts, which is something that I know a lot of people have been looking forward to. **

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, July 25th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	25. SS Ch 7: Schemes and Sortings Part I

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my .**

**In addition, you can follow the official ACI100 fanfiction account on Instagram aci100ff or by using the link on my profile to get even more out of my written works.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos **

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin. **

**Chapter 7: Schemes and Sortings Part I.**

* * *

_**August 21,1992**_

_**The Cuffe Household**_

_**9:04 PM**_

Rita Skeeter frowned distastefully as the surprisingly strong summer wind blew her hair out of its immaculate position as she stepped out of old Barney's home. In truth, Barnabus Cuffe, the editor of the _Daily Prophet _wasn't terribly old. Still, Rita had known the man for so long now that it felt that way to her. He certainly seemed older than he was at times. Times like tonight, where he had easily and casually brushed her concerns about an up and coming reporter aside. Because of course, why would James Potter's inherent dislike of her be counted against her in future opportunities when she had been the best selling writer the _Prophet_ had seen in decades? That was, at least, if one did not count the wartime additions during the Purity War prior to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat in 1981.

All in all, Rita was feeling rather high on herself for a number of reasons. That feeling was punctured, however, when she stepped through the boundary of the Cuffe family wards and back out onto public property, intent on apparating back to her flat in London. As soon as she stepped through the wards, Skeeter saw a shadow shift in a most unnatural manner. Immediately, the reporter's wand was in her hand but as she cast her eyes around the dimly lit clearing, even going as far as to activate the night vision enchantment on her charmed glasses, Rita could see nothing at all. Frowning, she glanced around one final time before deciding that it must have been a trick of the light and disapparating. She did, however, still take three trips to apparate home in case she was being followed by something that somehow evaded her enchanted spectacles. After all, one could never be too careful, least of all when they had as many enemies as Rita Skeeter.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, at Weitts Manor...**_

Harry stopped reading his book on Ancient Runes at last when the journal sitting on the desk beside him glowed blue with Emily's response. This had been the longest she had ever taken to respond to him. Granted, it had still been less than twenty minutes, but it had been enough time for him to become entranced in his text. His memory was greatly expediting the process of learning the necessary foundational languages for Ancient Runes, and he could already tell that it would become one of his favourite subjects once the base work had been done.

As interested in the subject as he was, he was far more interested in Emily's reply to his question, which he did not need to see to remember each and every word of.

_Emily,_

_I had a question about Legilimency. I think it's more complicated than most of the questions I've asked before, but I figured I'd ask anyways. I have an… acquaintance who is learning Legilimency. By all accounts, she is very good at it. I'm not sure exactly how good she is. The other day, she told me and some others that she could hear others' thoughts and gauge their general mood just by being near them. On top of that, she said that it was becoming hard to suppress while she worked on Legilimency, since she was at a specific point where her control was lessened. _

_Can you explain anything about that? _

Harry had debated throwing in the old classic "I wasn't even aware that was possible" line, but seeing as he had experienced similar feelings, if admittedly on a lesser and seemingly much more vague level than Charlotte, it would be an outright lie. Harry was not opposed to lying every now and then, but in his experiences of deceiving those around him, mostly his teachers pre-Hogwarts, half-truths usually worked much better than lies.

In any case, Harry opened the book eagerly and with a great deal of curiosity. As usual, Emily did not disappoint.

_That is a rather complicated question, and it is one that is quite abstract as well, but I suppose that I can sate your curiosity. It is possible for some people to subconsciously glean the thoughts of others, though it takes a Natural Legilimens to do it, and usually quite an exceptional one at that. Usually, it is just an overall mood. For example, in my youth, I could tell whether or not someone was lying to me through use of the ability. Some, however, and I am lucky to count myself among them, experience this at a higher level, one could say. For those very, very rare individuals, they can glean exactly what a person is thinking, though it is fundamentally different from Legilimency as you know it._

Harry frowned. _What makes it different?_

_I take it that you're familiar with the spell 'Legilimens' by this point?_

Still not knowing where Emily was going with this, Harry wrote his affirmation and waited for the next reply.

_That wanded spell is the most basic form of Legilimency. You are channeling your magic through your wand in order to create a link between your mind and the mind of another. By channeling your magic through a wand, you are making the process far more simple. Most people think that the spell forms stronger links, but this is not the case. The spell makes it easier to form said links, so naturally, they will usually be stronger and more difficult to break for the defending Occlumens, but it is not a fundamental component of the spell. _

_For those who are particularly advanced within the field of Legilimency, a wand is completely and wholly unnecessary. For those who have truly mastered the art, forming the link between your mind and the mind of another is simply something that your magic is accustomed to doing. As such, you do not need your wand as a conductor. For the latter technique, eye contact is required, because it presents you with a point of focus to project your magic onto. The eyes are the suggested field of focus due to the neurological connection between the eyes and the brain. Beyond that, little is understood on the matter. _

_The thing that these two forms of Legilimency have in common is that you are actively conducting your magic onto a specific focus point in order to form a powerful connection. _

_For the vast majority of the population, these are the only two options. However, a select few among us are Natural Legilimentes._

Harry blinked. _Legilimentes?_

A second later, he sighed; he should have known what it meant based on the context.

_It is the plural for Legilimens. The word is derived from the Latin words legere and mens. In Latin, the correct plural for mens is mentes, hence the seemingly odd plural._

Harry privately cursed wizards for using Latin. It was a bit of a pain to always have to flow back and forth between Latin and English. He knew that the language of casting really wasn't that important, since magic was cast in all kinds of languages. He wished wizards had just modernized the spells and translated them all over to English.

_Why do Natural Legilimentes have this third option? What separates them from the rest? Surely them naturally having the ability just means they have the same abilities as the rest without needing to develop them, right?_

_And there lies the truth, Harry. Legilimency is not an ability at all. As I have said, when deconstructed, Legilimency is simply forming a connection between two minds. A Natural Legilimens does not have to form those connections from nothing, for their magic naturally creates links to those around them; albeit far weaker ones than those typically used for Legilimency. Most of them can do little more than gauge a person's overall mood and emotions. Those of us who are particularly prodigious can read exact thoughts with some practice, but even then, the extracting of actual memories is impossible. _

Harry rubbed at his temples. Legilimency as a whole seemed rather confusing. Then again, this was not the first, nor was he sure that it would be the last time he was left reeling after a theoretical discussion with the enigmatic Emily Riddle.

* * *

_**August 22, 1992**_

_**Weitts Manor**_

_**6:12 AM**_

Harry was awake early that next morning and after reading up on Ancient Runes for about an hour, he thought some breakfast may not be a bad idea. To his astonishment, he did not seem to be the only person to have the idea.

"Grace?" he asked quietly.

Grace's posture stiffened and she turned around rather quickly. When she saw Harry, her blank expression did not waver. "Good morning, Harry."

"I don't think I've ever seen you awake this early." Harry observed, hoping that she would tell him what the purpose of this early morning was.

Grace shrugged. "You probably haven't; I don't exactly make a habit of it." She pursed her lips. "Honestly, I wish I was still in bed right now."

"Why aren't you then?" Harry asked cautiously. It was quite a blunt question, but at 6:00 in the morning, he thought he could get away with it. Plus, he had developed a fairly open relationship with Grace, at least in regards to small, innocuous things.

"I have my apparition test scheduled this morning."

Harry's eyebrow rose. "At six or seven in the morning?" He was more than a little bit skeptical of the fact. "What time exactly do you have to be there for? Surely you don't need to be that early?"

Grace sighed. "You are entirely too observant for your age." she told him darkly. Harry tensed almost unnoticeably. The last person to say something similar to that statement had been Dumbledore, and that had been moments before the man made a fairly efficient attempt at ruining Harry's summer. When Harry continued to peer speculatively at her, Grace just rolled her eyes. "I have… an appointment beforehand." Harry nodded slowly. He knew that now, he would get nothing more out of her, but he did wonder what this appointment was. Grace peered around before meeting Harry's eyes. "I would… appreciate it, if you didn't tell my mother and father that I left at this time. They know about the apparition test, but not my other business."

Harry's attention was now caught more than ever, but he kept his face completely blank and polite. "If you'd like." he agreed, earning himself a brief smile in return as Grace reached for a grey travelling cloak and wrapped it around herself before she walked off towards the Entrance Hall and in it, the floo.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Sure," Harry muttered, eyes following her all the way out of the room, "don't mention it."

* * *

_**August 31, 1992**_

_**Malfoy Manor**_

_**8:34 PM**_

Draco knocked lightly on the heavy oak door that led into his father's personal study. It was one of only a few rooms within the expansive confines of Malfoy Manor that he was not allowed to enter without permission under any circumstances. Not that he could have entered even if he'd wanted to. The room was rather heavily warded and it would have taken a rather talented curse breaker or a small squad of aurors to enter the room without permission in any decent amount of time. On rare occasions such as tonight, however, Draco was summoned to the room by one of the family's house elves. It had only happened a handful of times in his life, which was how he knew that whatever this was about would be serious.

"Enter." drawled his father's smooth, aristocratic voice. Cautiously, Draco reached out, wrapping his fingers around the cool, immaculate doorknob before turning it and admitting himself into the ornate room. It was a very large room, dominated primarily by bookcases and portraits of Malfoy family ancestors. On the right most wall was a large fireplace. It allowed for exit only floo access. Technically, locations could be connected to the floo to allow them entrance to the manor, but to Draco's knowledge, no other home or any other location had ever been connected.

On the far wall facing the door, Draco's father sat behind his large, wooden desk, reclining on his black leather chair that very much resembled a throne. Behind the large, polished oak desk on the wall was the most prominent portrait of all. It was of a man who looked quite a lot like Lucius and Draco, but his eyes were darker and his features sharper. Draco knew the face. It was his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, the previous Lord of House Malfoy prior to his death more than a decade earlier. "Sit." Lucius commanded his heir, his attention dedicated primarily to the piece of parchment which he was reading intently. When Draco sat, he had to wait nearly five minutes before his father nodded in a self-satisfied sort of way before sliding open one of the desk drawers and neatly storing the letter within it. Only when he finished, did he look up, fixing Draco with his grey-eyed stare.

"I have told you this summer that this year, you will act as a true Malfoy and not as a foolish schoolboy, correct?"

Draco nodded respectfully. "Yes, Father."

"Well, Draco, I have a more… specific opportunity for you to prove your competence this year." Draco felt apprehension crawl into the pit of his stomach at his father's words, but he tried his utmost best not to show it. Draco was not foolish enough to miss the true message his father was projecting. There was family business that needed to be conducted this year at Hogwarts, and it would fall to him, the Malfoy Heir, to assure that said business ran smoothly. As for the nature of this business… Draco was honestly nervous to speculate.

"What would you require of me, Father?"

Lucius leaned slightly forward in his chair, peering more critically at his son. "There is a student starting at Hogwarts this year by the name of Benedict Cuffe." Draco quickly searched his memory bank for the name. He did not know of a Benedict Cuffe, but Cuffe was an Ancient House. "I would like you to approach him on the train, if the opportunity presents itself."

Draco's brows furrowed. He failed to see why on earth his father was so interested in a child from an Ancient House who he did not even believe to be the heir. "Of course, Father." he responded carefully. "Can I… can I know why you'd like me to approach him? It might make me better suited for the job?"

Lucius smiled thinly. "Certainly. I would like for you to assure that he ends up in Slytherin House." Draco blinked, clearly confused. Lucius answered his unasked question before he could speak. "After all, it will be much easier to observe him and report back anything you find about him back to me if you can befriend him. Which, in turn, will be much easier if he's a member of Slytherin House."

* * *

_**Five minutes later...**_

As Draco made for the door once his father had concluded their meeting, Lucius's voice stopped him.

"Draco?"

Draco turned, eyebrows raising before his father said his final piece and dismissed him for real. "If… mysterious events come to pass this year at Hogwarts, it would be in your… best interests to not look into said events too closely and simply allow them to play out as they do."

Draco's brow furrowed but he did not dare question his father's cryptic statement as he dipped his head in acknowledgement and made his exit from the room.

Once Draco had left the study, Lucius slid open the desk drawer once more and once again removed the letter he had been reading prior to Draco's arrival. After reading it over one final time, Lucius stuffed it back in the drawer and climbed to his feet, quickly making his way over to the portrait of his ancestor, Septimus Malfoy.

"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper." he said clearly, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a number of ornate mirrors. Lucius took a moment to examine each in turn before finally, he retrieved one with a name clearly inscribed upon its back.

_Mister Deimos._

"Walpurgis." Lucius intoned and immediately, the mirror glowed blue. Within a minute or two, the glowing faded and a man's face appeared in the mirror. He had sharp features, dark eyes and medium length brown hair. There were several scars on his face and he looked older than he truly was.

"Lucius?" Tiberius Nott asked, surprised.

"Hello again, old friend." Lucius said with a small smile. "I have a proposition for you."

* * *

_**September 1, 1992**_

_**King's Cross Station**_

_**10:56 PM**_

As usual, the Weasley contingent arrived just in the nick of time, only minutes before the Hogwarts Express was set to depart from Platform 9¾. Among the Weasley brood this year was another boy who stood out like a splash of paint against a white canvas. His messy black hair served as a vivid contrast to the sea of redheads that surrounded him. Ordinarily, James would have accompanied Charlus to the platform but this morning, he was off on a raid of some kind and Peter was off… somewhere. Charlus didn't really mind. James had managed to have an entire week off after his birthday and a few days around their trip to the alley, so he wasn't super bothered. Besides, Charlus had no objections to spending time with the Weasleys, Ron in particular.

Mrs. Weasley went through first, clutching Ginny's hand as she did so. Charlus could not help but notice how annoyed the youngest Weasley looked but before he could ponder on it for long, the pair of them had disappeared through the seemingly solid barrier. Next, Percy marched through the barrier alongside Mister Weasley. Then went the twins and finally, it was time for Ron and Charlus to do the same.

"Together then." Ron asked leisurely, strolling towards the barrier at a brisk pace right alongside Charlus. As the two boys neared the barrier, Charlus smiled, ready to continue on the magical journey that had captivated him so much the year prior.

Except for the fact that last year, he had not slammed hard into a barrier and been thrown rather painfully to the ground. Last year, he simply passed straight through the barrier alongside his best mate, walking in much the same way they had been doing now.

As the two boys fell, a resounding crash echoed through the station and to both boys' dismay, they found themselves being openly gawked at. Luckily, Charlus managed to play it off as if the two of them had simply lost control of the trolley, but it was still a rather disastrous crash nonetheless. When the duo had regained their bearings, they leaned up against the barrier, doing their best to look conspicuous while simultaneously trying their utmost to force their way through. To their conjoined dismay, it did not work.

"I've never even heard of this happening." Ron muttered. "This has been up and running for ages. It can't just have malfunctioned?"

Charlus shook his head thoughtfully. It was far too much of a coincidence to assume that the barrier, which, to either of their knowledge, had never been faulty before had simply failed mere moments before the most famous student ever to attend Hogwarts strolled right on up to it. "I doubt it," he answered, "if it failed, I think it would've failed for everybody, not just for us. I mean, your family literally just went through. It makes no sense."

As he said this, Charlus looked up at the clock and his heart nearly stopped. There was only one minute left until the express was set to depart. Furiously, Charlus slammed his shoulder hard against the barrier, but it stood as solid as ever.

"What are we gonna do?" Ron asked in a panic. "Wait for my parents?"

Charlus hesitated. There was a chance that whatever magic prevented Ron and Charlus from passing through the barrier would make it impossible for Ron's parents to return. There was also that small part of him that had vowed to do better after the confrontation with Voldemort. He'd needed his brother and Dumbledore to save him, in spite of his best efforts. Charlus had vowed to himself to be better, to solve his own problems.

Now, he had a choice.

Charlus chose to solve the problem himself.

"Nah, let's figure something out." Charlus said. "We have no idea if your parents can even get back through the barrier and besides, even if we did wait, where would we wait that they could find us? It's a zoo in here."

Ron shrugged. "We could wait by the car." Then, at the exact same moment in time, Ron's jaw slowly fell open and Charlus's eyes widened. The two of them shared a brief, intense stare before Ron whispered his thought aloud. "The car..."

"Ron, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Ron hesitated. "I-I think so." he paused. "But isn't it… you know, illegal? The Statute of Secrecy and all that?"

Charlus frowned. "Yeah, but they make exceptions in special situations. Personally, I definitely think this qualifies. And honestly, I'm kind of done letting other people solve my problems." Ron did not know what his best friend meant by the last comment, but the thought of flying a car to Hogwarts was tempting enough to forestall any protests he may have voiced otherwise.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, on the Hogwarts Express...**_

Harry, Daphne, Tracey and Charlotte had all boarded the train together. Once onboard, the four of them had searched for an empty compartment. Instead, they found something that Harry considered to be even better.

"Blaise!" Tracey exclaimed when they opened a compartment door and revealed the tall, dark skinned boy with dark hair and eyes lounging back in his seat and reading a book whose title Harry could not distinguish.

Blaise looked up slowly, allowing his lips to curve upwards into a small smile. "Morning everyone." he greeted cheerfully, sweeping to his feet as he stowed his book away in his bag. After reacquainting with his three friends, Blaise turned to Charlotte, who did not immediately offer her hand for the customary greeting. Instead, Blaise, looking mildly taken aback for only a second, offered her his hand and a smile that could melt ice. To Charlotte's credit, her expression didn't waver. That fact actually seemed to catch Blaise off guard, for he paused for a second longer than normal before going on with his introduction. Harry too was impressed. Not even Daphne could consistently resist a blush around Blaise. "It's a pleasure to meet such a beautiful maiden." Blaise said, laying it on thick as always. "Blaise Zabini, at your service."

Charlotte appraised him for a number of seconds before slowly, finally, she offered her hand, which Blaise brushed with his lips before clasping briefly. "A pleasure, Heir Zabini." Charlotte said carefully. "Charlotte Weitts, youngest daughter of the House of Weitts." For a second, surprise flashed in Blaise's eyes and Harry could tell that he would be thoroughly annoyed with the three of them for not even informing him Grace had a younger sister. In typical fashion, Blaise's surprise was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Ah, I see." he said, smiling once more. "Well, I hope to see you in Slytherin, Miss Weitts." Then, Blaise turned to Harry. "How's the second half of summer treated you, my friend?" Blaise's voice gave nothing away but in that moment, Harry's suspicions that Blaise at least had ideas about his home life were confirmed. Unbidden, feelings of dread, anger and bitterness welled deep within the pit of Harry's stomach, but he suppressed them, making sure to allow no emotion to cross his face until he smiled easily back at Blaise. Only after doing this did Harry realize that if anybody in his year had a more trademarked smile than he did, it was Blaise. Harry could almost always tell when the latter's smile was disingenuous, and he imagined after the fact that the same would apply in reverse.

"I enjoyed it." Harry answered easily.

"You made the paper, I noticed." Blaise said conversationally.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You'll have to be more specific, Blaise. I'm pretty sure I made the paper more than once."

Blaise chuckled. "So you did. Let me rephrase that. You, your brother, and our lovely new Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor made the paper." Harry made a face and Blaise laughed openly this time. "What's the matter, Harry? Don't like him as much as you did Hurst?"

Harry wasn't sure if that was Blaise's attempt at teasing or whether it was a probe in hopes that he would mention something about Hurst. If it was the latter, Blaise really should've known better than to get his hopes up. "He's incompetent." Harry dismissed easily.

Tracey actually gasped at his statement. "Incompetent?! Harry! Have you not read his books? He's done all sorts of amazing things!"

"He's written about doing all sorts of amazing things." Harry corrected. "That and doing them aren't necessarily the same thing."

Blaise looked between the two of them as if vaguely interested in a particularly even tennis match. "Harry's judgement is usually pretty sound." Blaise admitted. "But, if he's incompetent, he must be _really_ incompetent. You would have to be a special kind of fool to lie about all of that. It could backfire in your face terribly. Half-truths work much better than lies. I definitely don't think he's useless. I think there's probably more to him, though."

Harry scoffed at Blaise's naivety in regards to Lockhart, but it was Daphne who spoke up first. "Spoken like a seasoned veteran, Zabini."

Blaise merely raised an eyebrow in challenge. "And you're not a seasoned veteran?"

As Daphne made to respond, Harry turned to Charlotte, who was sitting beside him while Daphne and Blaise began to squabble and Tracey watched intently. Charlotte had a rather pensive expression and she met his stare quickly, raising an eyebrow in question. "Ask me then?" she said quietly enough for the others to miss.

Harry frowned. "I'll take it you didn't mean to Legilimize me."

"I didn't have to." Charlotte said exasperatedly. "When you want to ask a question, you have obvious tells. You're good at hiding most things, but you always look uncomfortable when you want to ask a question."

Harry paused. He supposed that would make sense based on his life at Privet Drive and the conditioning he had involuntarily received at the hands of his relatives. Still, that was a habit that would need to be broken. "You know something, don't you?" he asked in barely more than a whisper.

Charlotte's lips curved up in a sweet smile. "I know plenty of things, Harry. You'll have to do better than that."

"About Lockhart. You don't believe me that he's a fraud?"

"I don't exactly know anything, but I definitely don't think he's a fraud. I'm pretty sure of it, actually."

"How? Legilimency?"

Charlotte scowled, genuinely looking annoyed. "It's rude to assume I just Legilimize everybody I come across, you know?." she pointed out, and Harry looked a bit abashed. She sighed. "Sorry, it's just stressful, since I'm still working on the control bit. No, it has nothing to do with Legilimency. Seeing as we're talking about it though, he does at least know Occlumency."

Harry sighed; and here he had felt guilty for making assumptions about Charlotte.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in a separate compartment...**_

Ares Black looked out the window for as long as she could, watching the figures of her Mother, Father, Aunt and Uncle vanish as the Hogwarts Express pulled steadily away from Platform 9¾. It would be odd to be away from her parents.

Her father spent quite a lot of time at the Ministry since he had risen historically through the ranks on his way to becoming head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Still, her mother had almost always been at the manor in her youth. Often she was working, managing both the Black and Lestrange family affairs, but she was almost always there. It was true that her mother, Bellatrix, had never exactly babied her and had rather forcefully directed her towards independence at a young age, but she had still always been there. It felt so odd rushing away from virtually all she had ever known at this speed. Even when she hadn't been at home, she had been at Malfoy Manor in the presence of Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius.

"It's not that bad, you know?" Draco said from beside her. He too was looking out the window, and he too, like Ares herself, wore a guarded expression.

"What makes you think that I don't like it?" Ares asked curiously. She had a strong, clear voice that was somewhat soft in its tone. She had a sort of detached way of speaking much of the time, which was exactly what she was doing right now.

Draco shrugged. "I thought about it last year." he admitted quietly. Draco wasn't the most open person when it came to his true feelings, but Ares was like a sister to him. If there was anybody he could trust, it was her. "It was… hard at first. I missed home, I missed my parents, I missed our lifestyle. But after a while, it gets easier. It becomes a routine, like Father always said." Lucius had always preached the power of a routine. True, it was usually in reference to business, but Draco thought the statement still likely applied here.

Ares didn't answer for about a minute. Then, she spoke in little more than a whisper. "Thank you, Draco."

Draco smiled genuinely. "Always." Then, he sighed. "I have family business I need to attend to. Care to join me?" Ares nodded. After all, what else was she supposed to do? She had no friends except for Draco, not that she had ever tried to make them. Acquaintances, sure, but her mother had always advised her against true friends. Draco was family, so he was an exception.

As they walked, Draco slid a folder out of his robes and eyed it discreetly. Ares quickly glanced at the folder from over his shoulder and recognized it. She had to bite down the urge to frown. Those folders were not overly uncommon among the wealthiest, most morally ambiguous pureblood families. Usually, they were concerned with a person. Their likes, their dislikes, how to approach them, how best to acquaint with them, their appearance, and so on and so forth. Ordinarily, rich pureblood families paid for these folders to be made up by those who would examine known information about the person. The picture that Draco was looking at was one Ares had never seen before. As they continued down the hall, Draco peered in each compartment before finally, he spotted one that was very obviously the compartment that held the boy he was looking for.

The compartment had three occupants. One was the boy whose face matched the photo Ares had seen a minute or so earlier. One was a platinum blonde girl with silvery eyes and a slim figure, and the other had flaming red hair and was very obviously a Weasley. Whatever this family business of Draco's was, it must have been important. Though he was very clearly annoyed at seeing the youngest Weasley and doing a poor job of hiding it, he did not immediately make any slight towards her, nor did he leave. Instead, he set his jaw, looking anywhere but at Weasley as he stepped towards the only other male in the compartment and held out his hand.

"You're Benedict Cuffe, right?" The boy, Benedict Cuffe, Ares supposed, looked intensely surprised but nodded slowly, almost cautiously. Draco smiled a wide, winning smile, seeming to do the best he could to turn that famous Malfoy charm up to eleven. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Scion Cuffe. I am Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy. My lovely friend here is Ares Black, Heiress of the Founding House of Black." Ares spotted Weasley's eyes widen, though they were mostly hidden behind a book that she was very clearly hiding behind. Before she could think much on that, Draco was speaking again. "Say, do you mind if we sit here, Benedict?" Then, Draco paused, frowning in a clearly deliberate fashion. "If I may call you Benedict, of course."

"Uh… sure," the boy said, seeming a bit taken aback, "you can stay and… uh, you can both call me Ben or Benedict, if you'd like, Heir Malfoy, Heiress Black."

Draco smiled. "Splendid! Do me a favour, Benedict. Please, call me Draco."

* * *

_**A few hours later...**_

Calypso, Cassius and the Carrow twins had popped in for a bit right around the time that the trolley full of sweets and the like had arrived at their door. Harry, Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Charlotte and the four older students talked amiably while they all ate their fair share of sweets. Harry thought this year's discussion while eating sweets was far more pleasant than last year's. Vividly, he remembered how Charlus had essentially dragged him into a compartment with himself and Ron and tried, in his own, self-deluded way, to fix the relationship between them. It was so odd how quickly Charlus's opinion could shift. In the span of a school year, Harry had gone from his long lost brother, to that Slytherin prat, to his reunited brother, to a dark wizard on the rise. Harry had no idea if Magical Britain knew of bipolar disorder, or whether magic somehow even prevented it, since he had yet to see any disabled magicals, but if it existed, Harry seriously thought that Charlus needed to be tested.

After a while, their older acquaintances returned to their own compartment, leaving Harry and his friends alone. Before Harry could join in the conversation between the three girls, he noticed something from the overhead compartment. A faint, bluish glow seemed to be emanating from his school bag, which he had kept separate from the shrunken trunk in the pocket of his robes. Carefully, Harry stood, pulling the enchanted piece of parchment from his bag in a manner that allowed nobody to see him with it.

When he took his seat once more, he was grateful that Charlotte, who still sat beside him, was engrossed in her conversation with Daphne and Tracey. Granted, her eyes did flick towards Harry, but when she saw he was simply holding a piece of parchment, she lost interest quickly enough. Blaise, on the other hand, seemed to know that Harry rarely did anything innocuous. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, who just shook his head in return. As he unfolded the bit of parchment, Harry reflected that it was almost as if his thoughts had summoned his brother. Then again, perhaps the trolley had found Charlus's compartment and his brother had simply shared the same thought.

Or, apparently not, seeing as it wasn't even Charlus who was writing to him.

_Harry, it's James._

_I realized during a break from work today that Charlus left this at home. I wanted to check if you were alright and on the train, since your brother seems to have decided to go off the rails a bit._

Harry frowned. Truthfully, he had no interest in speaking to James in any capacity. Any trust that had existed between the two of them had shattered, and Harry was fairly certain it would never be repaired. Still, he could at least pretend he cared and reap the benefits, at least for now. Until he found a way to gain a position in which James would have no control over him anymore. And honestly, James's message had actually been rather Slytherin. Harry was too naturally curious. He couldn't not ask what his idiotic brother had done this time. He figured there was a good chance that James was simply seizing an opportunity to talk to him, but he ignored the fact that he was practically feeding into his plan.

_I'm perfectly fine, thank you. What has Charlus done this time?_

Then, Harry's eyes widened in astonishment as he realized that his father may have just been genuinely concerned. Harry also felt rather insulted that his father would ever think such idiocy a possibility for him, but he crushed that emotion ruthlessly. He was feeling too much shock to deal with much else, after all.

_Apparently, he decided to take the Weasley's flying car from the parking at King's Cross and fly it to Hogwarts whilst Arthur and Molly saw their kids off to school. Ron went with him. I have half a mind to send a team of HIT wizards after them, but I promised Arthur I'd keep his car low-key, and that would almost definitely lead to a formal investigation by the DMLE. _

_I just wanted to check that one of my sons turned out a bit more like their mother._

Harry would have frowned, even scowled at James's casual reference to his mother. Was he seriously trying that technique again in an effort to get Harry to open up? But at the moment, he was more concerned with folding the parchment, stuffing it into his robes and burying his head in his hands before furiously rubbing at his temples.

"What's got you in such a twist?" Blaise asked, and Harry suspected the boy's eyes had never left him. Suddenly, the attention of the others in the compartment were all on Harry and he sighed, leaning back against his seat and looking skyward, as if the heavens may present him with a feasible explanation for how some people were just born with absolutely no common sense.

"Stupid people give me a headache." he muttered, drawing raised eyebrows from the other four. "Apparently, the dimwitted duo of my brother and Ron Weasley decided it was a great idea to steal a flying car and fly it to Hogwarts instead of taking the train like the rest of us mere mortals."

Ringing silence permeated the compartment following Harry's proclamation. "Differing circumstances or not," Daphne muttered darkly, "I do not understand how the two of you are related."

Charlotte just looked between all four of them. "Please tell me not every Gryffindor is that much of an idiot."

"No," Blaise responded dryly, "certainly not. Just most of them." In spite of himself, Harry joined his four friends in a fit of laughter.

* * *

_**Hours later, at Hogwarts...**_

As Harry and his friends, except Charlotte, who had joined the other first years in riding across the Black Lake, stepped out of the seemingly self-propelled carriage they occupied, Tracey shot an odd, tragic look towards the carriages. Harry peered speculatively towards her, but she shot him an "I'll tell you later" sort of look, and Harry just shrugged. As the four of them neared the Entrance Hall. Harry spotted Malfoy, Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle just ahead of them. They appeared to be talking about Charlus Potter. Or, to be more precise, his mysterious absence from the Hogwarts Express.

Remembering exactly how all of Gryffindor House had leered and hissed at him at the end of last year, Harry suddenly saw a rather perfect path to retribution. Of course, he would never rat out his darling brother to his father's least favourite professor, but he certainly knew someone who just might. Quickening his pace to end up just behind the Slytherin quintette, Harry spoke in a voice loud enough to carry to the group in front of them.

"I still can't believe the nerve of my brother." he told Blaise beside him in an exasperated voice. He could have smirked when he saw Malfoy's step hitch for just a moment. Fortunately, Blaise seemed to know exactly where Harry was going with this as, with a sideways wink the Slytherins ahead of them couldn't see, he responded.

"It is honestly impressive the lengths your brother will go to in order to stand out. I mean, flying a car to Hogwarts for a bit of publicity…" Draco's posture went ramrod stiff at Blaise's proclamation and Harry shot Blaise a quick grin as they all entered the Great Hall. Sure enough, Malfoy's first action upon entering the hall was to beeline straight towards the staff table and more specifically, their Head of House, Professor Snape.

As Harry and his friends took seats at the Slytherin table, far further from the end than last year, in fact, Harry watched as Malfoy conversed with Snape. A minute or so later, Snape nodded curtly, swept to his feet and exited the hall, black robes billowing typically behind him.

"That was delightfully cunning of you, Harry." Blaise said approvingly, toasting Harry with one of the empty glasses that sat in front of each student, waiting to be filled when the feast began in full force.

Harry tilted his head, a perfect look of innocence imprinted upon his visage. "Cunning, Blaise? I've no idea what you're on about."

Blaise smiled knowingly back at him before, all of a sudden, the door off the hall swung open and Professor McGonagall entered, leading the newest crop of Hogwarts first years up towards the center of the hall.

Charlotte was standing at the very back of the line, clearly destined to be the final student sorted. Seeing as her name started with a "W" this wasn't overly surprising. Standing right in front of her was another student that Harry recognized. Of course, that flaming red hair was hard to miss, and Harry was reasonably sure that even if he had never seen the girl before today, he'd still have managed to make the correct assumption that she was a Weasley. The other figure that Harry recognized was on the complete opposite end of the spectrum to Charlotte in this case. In other words, she was the very first student in line. Ares Black stood out quite easily as a result of her heavily lidded eyes, long, straight black hair and sharp, aristocratic features.

When the new first year students had all congregated in front of the staff table, Professor McGonagall placed the spindle legged stool in front of them and rested the ancient Sorting Hat atop the equally old piece of furniture. Then, a moment later, a brim on the hat opened and it began to sing.

"_There was a time long years ago when I did not exist._

_Instead, four great sorcerers sorted students, for they could not resist_

_The urge to differentiate and set themselves apart._

_This however, laid the basis for them to depart._

'_Twas Gryffindor who made me, and that time I still remember_

_And still now, many years later, I sing at the dawn of each September._

'_Tis my job to sort the first years each and every year_

_But I try and speak some wisdom that I hope all students hear._

_First, I shall enlighten those all who may be new_

_And then, I shall tell you all the traps unknowingly laid out for you._

_First there is Gryffindor, where dwell those most pure of heart_

'_Tis their daring, nerve and chivalry which sets Gryffindors apart._

_Students of this house must be more than simply brave_

_lest they find themselves wrecked, a foolhardy knave_

_Next there is Ravenclaw, where intellect rules the roost_

_If knowledge is your end goal, then I offer you a boost._

_Yes indeed, if it is knowledge you desire_

_The house of wise old Ravenclaw will help you so acquire_

_Thirdly there is Hufflepuff, the den of Badgers true_

_Calling out those of honor through and through_

_Following their founder's ways of hard work and toil,_

_Those Puffs are always loyal._

_Finally, the house of cunning and ambition_

_It baffles me how the house has suffered such division_

_For wise old Slytherin was great, noble and insightful_

_It would cause him great pain the way some look upon his disciples._

_At Hogwarts, one's house is like their family_

_Within this school, there should be no greater force than unity._

_I must sort you by your values, and that I must adhere to_

_But in my eyes, it is not one's values, but one's choices which define you._

_Open your eyes, look around, and please do heed my song_

_Judging by one's values is far, far worse than wrong._

_At one time, the four houses were as one, as all values came together_

_But alas, centuries later, the four were torn asunder. _

_Conflict, hate and enmity are truly heinous things_

_It is my belief, in fact that they shall be our great undoing._

_So enjoy the world, for it is great, but not so everlasting._

_But alas, I shall not ramble on, it is high time that I get sorting!"_

When the hat concluded its song, the hall burst into its customary applause. Personally, Harry thought it was a rather deep song for the opening of the term, but he was no poet by any means. When the applause died down, McGonagall called the first student'a name, and Harry leaned forward in his chair, eager to gauge the overall reaction to the Black Heiress's arrival.

"Black, Ares."

Immediately, a hush fell over the hall. The silence was nowhere near as absolute as it had been last year when Charlus had stepped forward, but it was similar to the reaction Harry himself had received. The difference now, however, was in the atmosphere. When Harry had stepped forward exactly one year earlier, the hall had been permeated by an air of curiosity. Now, an almost oppressive tension settled over the gathered students as the regal looking first year strode confidently forward with a completely blank expression and took her seat on the stool. There was a delay of about twenty seconds, which was honestly longer than Harry had expected before the hat declared the Black Heiress a Slytherin.

As a matter of fact, the next student was also sorted into Slytherin. Benedict Cuffe, his name had been. Then, a mousy-haired boy called Colin Creevey went to Gryffindor and the sorting continued from there.

Brandon Harper was the next student sorted into Slytherin, though he was quickly followed by another, one that caused a hush to fall over the Slytherin table.

Martin Higgs was sorted into Slytherin very quickly, and the house of cunning took a minute to ponder the implications of such a thing. As he stepped towards the table, Harry noticed that several members of Gryffindor House were booing and hissing. The Weasley twins seemed to be the ring leaders, though Tobias Prichard and his group of friends, the same group that had tried to attack Harry last year, were prevalent as well. Harry could understand house rivalries, but their insensitivity was a bit over the top, in his opinion.

Several others joined Slytherin as the sorting progressed. Alex Jugson, the younger brother of Marcus, who was a Slytherin upperclassman, was the first. Then, Derrick Mulciber was sorted almost as soon as the hat had touched his head. This too caused some tension in the hall, and Harry figured he must have been a member of one of the families within Voldemort's ranks judging by the reaction to Ares and the similarities between the two reactions. He supposed that the Blacks technically never had been, but her mother had been rumoured to be a follower of Voldemort for years, and her mother's brother-in-law and ex-husband had both been convicted of the most heinous of crimes.

The sorting continued for some time before there were only two girls remaining, and they juxtaposed one another quite spectacularly. The first was Ginny Weasley, and the second was Charlotte Weitts.

One was from a family that had lived in Magical Britain for generations but was poor and open about the fact. The other was from a second or third generation British family that was extremely wealthy and even more secretive. Even their mannerisms and appearance were in contrast with one another. Ginny was slumped, head low, eyes cast to the floor as her hands shook at her side. Charlotte had her chin up, looking around the hall curiously and showing no signs at all of worry, holding her hands folded in front of her. Ginny was rather short, with flaming red hair and secondhand robes. Charlotte was tall for a first year girl, had perfect platinum hair that shone in the candle light and wore immaculate robes of the highest quality.

Finally, McGonagall cleared her throat once more and called the second to last name on the long roll of parchment.

"Weasley, Ginevra."

* * *

Ginny made her way up towards the stool on shaky legs. Internally, she marvelled at the oxymoron that was her mind. For so many years, she had dreamed of this moment, of attending Hogwarts. But now that she had arrived, she was utterly terrified by the prospect of resting the Sorting Hat upon her head. In spite of that, Ginny found herself on the stool faster than she'd have liked and within seconds, her vision was obscured by the ancient hat and a moment later, a voice spoke from inside the depths of her mind.

'Hmm… interesting, very interesting indeed. You are rather more difficult than I had expected, Miss Weasley.'

Ginny did her best to express the equivalent of a sigh mentally. 'I'm a Weasley, we all know where I'm off to.'

The hat chuckled. 'Your brothers have been quite tight-lipped about their own sortings, I see.'

Ginny stiffened. 'What do you mean?'

'I am forbidden from speaking of the sorting of others, Miss Weasley. For now, it is suffice to say that your brothers were not quite as clear sorts as you may have thought.' the hat paused. 'Except for the youngest. There was only one place for him, but I offered the others all choices at the very least.'

'Choices?'

'I had hoped you would listen closely to my song, Miss Weasley.' the hat chided. 'I am to sort you by your values, but that is a… loose bit of terminology, we shall say. As I have said, it is my belief that our choices are what truly define us. So, with that in mind, for cases like yourself where the sorting process is more… complex than average, I usually leave the choice up to you. I will, of course, give you the options and arm you with what you need to know to choose correctly before I do so. So, let us begin, if you have no objections.'

Ginny had none.

'Well, let us get the obvious one out of the way, shall we? You, Ginny, are much like the rest of your family. You are brave to a fault and would fit effortlessly into the mould of a true Gryffindor. I will admit, you are closer in persona to your related set of twins than most may realize. You are a bit more… flexible, in terms of your morals, but they are still strong and sound and your heart is in the right place. You would simply go a bit further than some of your other brothers to achieve your goals. Still, I would say you have enough chivalry to meet that requirement as well.'

Ginny had absolutely no idea how to take any of that. On one hand, she was qualified for Gryffindor, which meant she could join the rest of her family and fit in as normal. On the other, she was less morally sound than her brothers?

The sorting hat chuckled once more. 'Tis not a bad thing, Miss Weasley. Most of the greatest sorcerers the world has ever seen were willing to push the moral boundaries more than most others.' the hat chuckled again. 'I, of course, would know, as I have sorted many of them. But alas, back to your dilemma.

'The only house that I would dare eliminate is Ravenclaw. Do not take this the wrong way, Miss Weasley. You are intelligent, very much so, as a matter of fact. But it does not drive you. You will do the best you can, but knowledge is not the most important thing to you. You just wish to be happy… to be free.' Ginny nodded subconsciously. It was true, though she would have thought everybody wanted to be happy. The bit about being free, however… that cut a little bit too deep.

'What do you mean free?' Then, another thought crossed her mind. 'Wait! The only house you would eliminate is Ravenclaw? Than that means-'

'All in good time, Miss Weasley. All in good time. Now, Hufflepuff is actually a very suitable destination for you. You are fiercely loyal, more so than any I have thus far sorted this year, as a matter of fact. Keeping with that train of thought, your work ethic is outstanding. You have worked quite hard to develop those admirable skills of yours on a broom over the years, haven't you?'

Ginny flushed. Her mother had never let her anywhere near a broom ever since she was young. She had always thought the fact would change when she grew older, but thus far, that had not been the case. So, Ginny had learned many years ago how to unlock the shed. It had been accidental at first, but after many hours of experimentation in the dead of the night, Ginny could effectively and consistently unlock the shed door without a wand or any other instrument of aid.

'Ah, yes,' the sorting had admired, 'that wandless magic of yours is very impressive. True, it is limited to one spell, but my word, what a practical spell to have in your arsenal. Even then, it is far more than most witches and wizards ever master without their wand.' Ginny was internally panicking. If the hat told anybody about her breaking into the shed, or about her wandless magic…

'Don't fret, Miss Weasley. As I have told you, I cannot reveal the secrets of those I have sorted. Now, allow your mind to be at ease while we explore your final potential avenue.'

'Slytherin.' Ginny thought in the mental equivalent of a whisper.

'Indeed.' the hat agreed. 'You could be successful in any of the three houses I've recommended, Miss Weasley, but I truly believe you could shine in the house of cunning. You have certainly shown enough of it over your life with that deceptive wandless magic of yours.' the hat paused. 'And there is ambition there, oh yes there is. And out of the three houses, Slytherin is the only one that would help you achieve your true goal.'

'My… true goal?'

'You wish to escape the shadow of your family, Ginevra. You do not wish to be another Weasley. You wish for the Weasleys to be Ginny Weasley's family.'

'No! I would never-'

'It is not a bad thing, Miss Weasley. As a matter of fact, it is a very powerful motivator. But in order for it to fuel you to do great things, you must first accept the fact as it is.' Neither Ginny nor the hat communicated anything for more than a minute. Then, finally, Ginny asked what she would later look at as the question that changed her life.

'Why is Slytherin the only house that would help me achieve my goal?'

* * *

Harry's brow was furrowed as he watched the youngest member of the Weasley family sitting upon the stool. Neville Longbottom's sorting the previous year had taken quite some time, as had Hermione Granger's and, ironically, his own. Still, he had never seen the hat take this long with anybody. He'd read in _Hogwarts, A History _that it was possible. The hat could take long periods of time with a student. If the student in question took more than five minutes, they were referred to as a "Hat Stall". Still, it was going on seven minutes now, and Harry wondered how much longer it would take.

The answer, as it turned out, was approximately three seconds.

Finally, the brim of the hat opened wide for all to see, and it shouted to the entire hall the last word that anybody would have expected the ancient hat to shout.

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**So at long last, we have arrived back at Hogwarts!**

**Originally, this chapter stretched on for another 3k (ish) words. I decided to push them into the next chapter instead of this one here, mainly for the sake of trying to balance the length of the chapters. I know this is a bit of an odd place to end a chapter, but the next one will pick up pretty much right where this one left off.**

**A special thank you to my beta Fezzik for being a great help with the original sorting song. Poetry is definitely my weakest literary skill, but I decided to give it a go since Rowling never made one for year 2.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 1st, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	26. SS Ch 8: Schemes and Sortings Part II

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Yoshi89, Fezzik and Luq707 for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: In addition to the Discord server and Instagram page, we now have an Ashes of Chaos wiki and TV tropes page. The links to both can now be found on my profile! **

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 8: Schemes and Sortings Part II.**

* * *

_**September 1, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall at Hogwarts**_

_**7:34 PM**_

Harry could not remember a time when the Great Hall had ever been this quiet. In the moments following the Sorting Hat's shocking proclamation that sent Ginny Weasley to Slytherin, one would be able to hear a pin drop anywhere in the Great Hall. Slowly, ever so slowly, as Ginny Weasley began to make her way towards the other Slytherin first years seated at the far end of the table, the muttering began.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, it began from the Gryffindor table and spread outwards through the hall. In all fairness, even the Slytherins were muttering. Harry caught a glimpse of Parkinson and Malfoy, both of whom looked as if they suddenly realized they had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Harry too, was surprised. He could not honestly say that he knew any member of the Weasley clan well, but he had certainly pegged them as a universally Gryffindor family. Then, he realized exactly how hypocritical that sounded.

After all, the reaction Ginny Weasley was getting was not all that different than the one he himself had received.

As the small red-headed girl neared the Slytherin table, looking exceedingly nervous each and every step of the way, the booing and cat-calls began to emanate from the Gryffindor table. Harry did notice that none of the Weasley clan were partaking in it, but he felt for Ginny right about now. Not only for the booing, but for the fact that she looked wholly and completely overwhelmed. As Ginny finally took her seat at the Slytherin table, Professor McGonagall mercifully spared her at long last by calling the final and, to Harry, the most interesting, yet least mysterious name of all.

"Weitts, Charlotte."

In contrast to Ginny, Charlotte looked like royalty as she sauntered up to the stool. Her hands were held loosely in front of her and her face was a perfect mask of calm. Not a single hair was out of place as she neared the stool. This time, it was the Slytherins who were muttering, and the overall sentiment at the silver and green table was universal.

Another Weitts in Slytherin?

Despite the high interest at the Slytherin table, Charlotte's sorting turned out to be much less dramatic than Ginny's. Within thirty seconds of being on her head, the Sorting Hat had loudly proclaimed her a Slytherin. Showing emotion for the first time throughout the whole process, Charlotte allowed a bright, radiant smile to spread across her face as she made her way towards the Slytherin table.

That was where the drama began for each and every member of Slytherin house.

It was an unwritten rule within Slytherin house that first years sat at the far end of the table unless openly endorsed by an older student. On the first night, that was not even an option. This was made obvious by the fact that every single Slytherin first year was sitting in perfect alphabetical order at the far left end of the Slytherin table. And it was very clear that Charlotte knew this. In fact, she even took the time to glance at all of the first years and politely incline her head.

Right before marching further up the table seemingly without a care in the world.

As Charlotte drew near, Blaise was the first to realize what was about to happen. Thankfully, there was an open seat a few students down, and he began to bully the nearest students out of their seats so he could leave an open spot between himself and Harry. Then, with the attention of the entire hall upon her, Charlotte dropped confidently down into the seat beside Harry with her smile still perfectly in place.

Even the rest of the hall were muttering at the oddity. They had not been foolish enough to miss both the obvious seating pattern at the Slytherin table and the rather tense reaction to the house's newest first year's choice of seat. The rest of the hall did not quite understand the extent of the move though.

This was the equivalent of Charlotte saying that she cared not for the policies of the house. This was essentially an open challenge for somebody to do something about it.

And for now, at least, nobody moved a muscle to stop her.

Harry wondered just how much leeway Charlotte's surname would give her until Grace graduated at the end of the year, and hoped it kept up like this and did not make her a target. If that natural protection began to fade, Harry was going to have a long year. Charlotte had made it blatantly obvious that she was not exactly going to keep the lowest of profiles, and Harry internally groaned at how difficult and dangerous his agreement with Grace could become. He really wished that they had practiced some combat magic over the summer. The Occlumency training was great, and he was about to begin the second level of Occlumency, but if this kept up, he would need the practice very, very soon.

The tension in the hall was broken once more when Dumbledore swept to his feet, wearing vibrant red robes trimmed and dotted with white that shone alongside his beard in the low candlelight of the hall. His smile was infectious and Harry may have fallen for what he now suspected to be a facade had he not wanted to wrap that beard around the headmaster's throat and forcefully strangle him with it.

Harry very much doubted that he would ever forgive James. If that much was true, he was completely and utterly certain that he would never forgive Dumbledore.

Speaking of Dumbledore, loathe the man as Harry might, he still had to very grudgingly admire the fact that Dumbledore's mere presence could silence a hall that had been in complete uproar only moments earlier.

"The time for rambling draws near." Dumbledore told the hall with his customary twinkle on full display. "But the time for food has first arrived. Bon Appetit!"

Harry heard Charlotte sigh from beside him as the heaping plates of food arrived. It was only then that he realized her perfectly composed demeanour was likely an act. "How does it feel?" he asked her quietly, sparing her a rare, warm smile as she tiredly returned the expression, though her eyes still gleamed with what Harry was sure she counted as a major victory.

"Exactly as perfect as I'd always imagined." Charlotte said with a smile. "I'm sure you're relieved as well." she commented. "Imagine how miserable you'd be after spending the summer with me if I had been a Gryffindor."

Harry's lips twitched. "I don't know what's more amusing." he told her. "The fact that you seem to think I wouldn't survive without you, or the image of you sitting beside Ronald Weasley wearing red robes."

Charlotte made a face. "Red robes would go terribly with my hair and eyes." she pointed out. When Harry just rolled his own eyes, Charlotte smiled that sweet, trademarked smile of hers. "Admit it, Harry. You're glad I'm in Slytherin."

Harry was very reserved about laughing in public, but he did allow a wide grin to spread across his face in spite of himself. "You're right, Charlotte," he admitted, figuring it was best tonight to just let her have her moment, "we're glad to have you."

* * *

_**Meanwhile, outside the Castle...**_

All in all, Charlus had experienced a rather dreadful day. When he had first proposed the idea of flying a car to Hogwarts, he would be lying if he did not admit to being extremely excited. At the time, that thought brought forth visions of grandeur, enjoyment and a grandiose arrival that would leave the students of Hogwarts gushing on for years to come. In truth, he and Ron had experienced seven long, agonizing hours with the sun beating forcefully down on them as they sailed aimlessly after the Hogwarts Express without any exciting ways to pass the time.

As dull as that all had been, Charlus would have happily gone through another seven hours of all of it to spare the two of them from what came next. In the aforementioned images of grandeur that Charlus had conjured up in his mind's eye hours earlier, there certainly had not been any of them that featured them getting knocked out of the sky by a tree that somehow moved. Worse than moving was the fact that the tree seemed to only be able to move with one purpose in mind.

Attack.

Certainly, another one of Charlus's images had not been of Ron and him, cowering in a car, as the violent excuse for a tree seemed to do its absolute best at collapsing the roof on top of them.

Fortunately for the both of them, the car too seemed to have a mind of its own. It managed one last, desperate spurt of energy that was enough to carry them out of range of the tree.

Moments later, the car rudely deposited the two boys and their luggage right at the edge of the Forbidden Forest before,with a rather indignant sounding honk of its horn, it took off, seemingly to find refuge somewhere within the depths of the black forest itself. If it wasn't bad enough that the two of them had been knocked out of the air and were sporting several minor injuries a piece, it was certainly bad enough to lose the now heavily damaged flying car that Charlus had helped steal from his best friend's parents. And of course, the icing on the cake was the fact that said best friend seemed to have a next to useless stick in place of a wand.

"Well," Charlus muttered sheepishly as both boys seemed at a loss for what to say, "at least this night can't get any worse."

"For future reference, Incompetent Potter," came a harsh yet amused sounding drawl from behind them, "I would advise you to perhaps leave the gods of irony unchallenged in the future."

'Sure,' Charlus thought bitterly, marvelling at his misfortune as he turned to face the rather smug-looking visage of his least favourite Hogwarts professor, 'why not? It's not like everything else has gone wrong today or anything.'

* * *

_**Some time later, back in the Great Hall...**_

As the plates of dessert finally cleared, leaving dozens of Hogwarts students groaning in satisfaction at their now full stomachs, Harry wondered absentmindedly if Snape had found his brother. Judging by the fact that neither of them had returned to the hall since Snape's departure some time ago, he would presume he had. Dumbledore and McGonagall's brief absence also added to that suspicion though by now, both of them had been back for some time.

Now, Dumbledore was standing once more, and Harry seriously debated clearing his mind simply so he wouldn't have to deal with the wave of fury that crashed against his consciousness as Dumbledore graced them all with a deceptively benign smile.

"My favourite part of each and every year at Hogwarts." the Headmaster began fondly. "It is always so great to see each of you at the start of term, all looking so healthy, eager and rejuvenated. In saying that, I understand that you are not as excited to see me and am sure you would much rather see your beds, so I will do my best to be prompt with the necessary matters of business that must be taken care of.

"Our new crop of first years should note that the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the grounds is, as the name implies, forbidden to all students." His eyes flicked briefly towards the Gryffindor table as he spoke, but he did not comment on the fact. "Our caretaker, Mister Filch, has asked me to remind each of you that magic is not to be performed in the corridors. For a rather expansive, more comprehensive list of other such offences, there is a list of somewhere north of two-hundred offences that is prominently displayed in Mister Filch's office for all of your reading pleasures.

"Quidditch tryouts will be held during the second and third weekends of term depending on which house you so proudly belong to. All interested candidates should submit their names to their Head of House as soon as possible.

"And finally, we have two new professors joining our esteemed staff this year!" Harry's brow rose, though he did not join in the tumult of chatter that erupted at Dumbledore's proclamation. "Firstly, we have Professor Ashley, who will be filling in for Professor Sinistra as the Astronomy professor this year while dear Aurora enjoys a rather well deserved sabbatical." A red-headed woman near the end of the staff table waved a bit shyly out at the mass of students, but many of them were paying her no mind.

Indeed, most of the eyes in the hall had come to rest on the more obvious addition to the staff.

"And our second and final new addition comes in the form of Professor Lockhart." Dumbledore said with a smile. "He will be putting his many talents and wealth of experience to good use as he educates all of you in the finer points of Defense Against The Dark Arts."

When his name was called, Lockhart swept gracefully to his feet, treating the entire student body to a rather blinding smile that seemed to cast his bright blue robes to shame. After taking a deep, theatrical bow, Lockhart retook his seat and Dumbledore, who seemed amused by the entire display, yawned before smiling tiredly out at all of the gathered students.

"Well, I know you are all yearning for the comforts of your beds and for the end to my ramblings. Allow me to grant both of those wishes simultaneously." With that, the benches all seemed to scrape back at once as everybody climbed to their feet.

Harry stood, almost forgetting Charlotte was beside him until they were standing. The fifth year prefects, Cassius and Calypso, funnily enough, were calling the first years to join them. Harry rose a brow towards Charlotte, obviously asking her whether or not she would follow the prefects or disregard tradition once more. In response, Charlotte simply smiled back at him. "Come on, Harry?" she said mockingly. "Surely you don't think I would just ignore a prefect." Then, with a mock glare, Charlotte spun on her heel, marching towards the prefects with her head held high.

"This is going to be a very interesting year." Daphne deadpanned darkly. Her eyes too were following Charlotte as she spoke. At least she hadn't promised her older sister that she would protect her. Suddenly, Harry wasn't sure all of the training in the world would be worth it.

Charlotte was not going to make his life easy.

"It certainly doesn't seem as interesting as the last." Blaise chimed in as they began to make their way out of the hall. As he spoke, Harry noticed that Blaise actually managed to sound disappointed. "There wasn't even a warning about a very painful death this time."

"Personally," Harry said in a voice low enough not to carry past the ears of his three friends, "I think I can handle going a year without coming anywhere near a very painful death, but that's just me." Blaise actually laughed but Daphne just glared at Harry. She did not seem to enjoy his darker jokes when they were at his own expense.

"She was being a bit bold though, wasn't she?" Tracey asked in a whisper, very obviously in reference to Charlotte.

"She was." Harry said quietly. "I… think she'll be able to get away with it, at least at first."

"That won't last forever." Daphne pointed out.

Harry nodded slowly as they finally drew close to the exit. "No," he admitted, "it won't."

When they exited the hall, Harry walked in the direction opposite the stairs leading down to the dungeons. Daphne called after him but instead, he simply gestured for his three friends to follow. Hesitant and perplexed, the trio obliged him, only to be led into the same antichamber that they had all occupied before their sorting.

"What are we doing here?" Tracey asked as all of them, minus Harry, examined the room for the first time since the sorting a year earlier.

In response, Harry just turned to a portrait of a rather ancient looking wizard and tapped it three times with his wand. Instantly, the full sized portrait swung to the side, revealing a hidden passageway that, of the four of them, only Harry had known was there.

"Taking a shortcut." he answered with a smirk at the gobsmacked look on Tracey's face. "I would've just come in here through the door off the hall, but it was a bit too crowded to try and fight the herd." He smirked more broadly in the direction of Tracey and Daphne, doing his best to portray a demeanour of complete and total smugness. "Don't look so surprised," he said offhandedly, "if the two of you had come with me for all of those exploring sessions early last year, you'd know about this passage. It was actually one of the first ones I found while at Hogwarts." Daphne and Tracey both glared at him as Blaise whistled, being the first one to follow Harry through the tunnel.

"Not bad." he commended. "I know about the one me and you used to listen in on the Terrors, but how many other tricks do you have up your sleeve, my friend?"

"Enough." Harry answered with that same, arrogant smirk.

A minute or so later, the four of them came out rather close to the Slytherin common room. "How are we all supposed to know the password?" Harry asked absentmindedly as they drew close to the common room.

"There is no password." said a familiar voice from behind them. When they turned, Grace, her best friend Rhea, and some of her other acquaintances were on their tails. "The password is never set until the fifth year Prefects arrive with the first years." Grace elaborated. "There is a reason that they always take the longest possible route, you know?"

Harry nodded; it made sense that they would give the rest of the house ample amounts of time to enter the common room before they deposited the new crop of students and closed the entrance along with them. There was a moment when Harry's eyes met with Grace's and he had to stop himself from calling her by her first name. "Good to know. Thanks, Weitts." Grace nodded, gesturing for Harry and his friends to go ahead.

Minutes later, the four of them entered the common room. All four of them immediately made to go off in the direction of the dorms, but Grace caught Harry's eye and very subtly shook her head.

He had to pause and think. It was clear she was signifying that it was best if he stayed in the common room, but why? As a matter of fact, there were several students staying behind, not counting Grace and her entourage.

Harry nodded as subtly as he could manage while meeting her eye, ushering Blaise on ahead to bed before he silently crept back into the common room, taking a seat rather near the lounge occupied by Grace and her friends. Then, he waited, wishing rather intensely that he had a book of some kind to occupy his time. Instead, he cleared his mind and went through the process of searching for any irregularities, even though there were none. Well, unless one counted the still sizzling anger that had been brought on by the sight of the Hogwarts Headmaster, but Harry did not.

Thankfully, Slytherin House was, for the most part, punctual. At least when they knew that it was in their best interests to show a degree of punctuality. This allowed for Cassius and Calypso not to take too much time with the first years and before Harry knew it, Charlotte and the rest were entering the common room. Harry watched Charlotte, and observed how her eyes roamed hungrily over every square inch of the common room before briefly resting on her sister and to Harry's mild surprise, himself.

"Good evening."

The first years, minus Charlotte, Ares and another tall, blonde girl all showed varying degrees of surprise at the silky smooth voice that seemed to come from nowhere. This time, Harry was not taken aback by the sudden appearance of his Head of House. He even snapped his eyes quickly enough over to the corner in which Snape had been lurking, evidently invisible, to see him shimmer into existence with an impassive look upon his visage.

Harry didn't really have a strong opinion on the man. He did not blatantly abuse Harry as he did Charlus, but he also did not show him the preferential treatment that the rest of Slytherin house received unconditionally. As a teacher, Snape was competent but not great. When he lectured, it was well done but when he set them to brewing, he typically seemed indifferent. All of that aside, there was one thing about Severus Snape that Harry, nor even Charlus, could deny.

He very obviously had a flair for the dramatics, no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind a trademarked sneer and everlasting blank expression.

"Welcome to the noble house of Salazar Slytherin." Snape told the collected first years in little more than a whisper. "This house prides itself on cunning and ambition, and I expect each of you to follow those time honoured traits. Those of this house will strive for their goals unconditionally. They will do whatever they see fit to achieve such goals, and they will achieve great things that will later reflect positively upon the house as a whole." his lip curled. "In saying so, members of this house will not, under any circumstances, rush into a given situation with the sole desire for glory. Members of this house will not stick their necks out onto the metaphorical chopping block simply to gain some… notoriety. The path to success is narrow and treacherous. In order to not fall off the path, one must maintain a critical balance and understand the risk versus the reward of every situation they willingly enter themselves into. Only by doing so will you find that success is achievable."

Harry's sentiment about Snape's dramatic flair only grew as the man went on. He also could not help but notice that Snape seemed to be putting more effort into this batch of first years than he had when Harry and his yearmates had first entered the snake pit. The fact did not bother Harry. In fact, it invoked no emotional response at all. Still, it was interesting; an inconsistency in a man who seemed to make the very possibility of inconsistencies seem impossible.

"But, I suppose," Snape went on, a glint in his eyes, "that in order to achieve success, one must understand what success really is."

From there, the Potions Master made a show of asking each first year in turn to answer the question, "What is success?"

The answers ranged from financial security, to true happiness, to everything in between. Charlotte had answered that success was gaining a position of power, one where you could not be controlled. Personally, that would have been Harry's answer a year ago, but for very different reasons. Still, Snape gave no reaction, and Harry had the feeling he was looking for something a bit less… personalized.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly snapped, and Harry nearly jumped out of his chair as his name was called. Still, he looked up and met Snape's eyes steadily, trying not to show how annoyed or surprised he was at being called upon while the man was supposed to be lecturing the first years.

"Sir?"

"What, Potter, in your estimation, is success?"

Harry took a long, hard minute to ponder Snape's question, acutely aware that every first year's gaze was fast upon him. He wondered how many of them were curious about him and how many of them actually cared about his answer. After several moments, he decided to follow his earlier train of thought. Perhaps it was not what Snape was looking for, but at the very least, it would give nothing away.

"I don't think a specific answer can be given, Professor." When Snape clearly wanted more, Harry elaborated. "All of us have different goals. If we didn't, ambition would be pointless. I think that success is achieving whatever goals you set for yourself. It also ties in to happiness, since that's one of the only things I can think of that makes everyone happy no matter what."

Snape did not speak for somewhere between five and ten seconds. Then, he did something that actually surprised Harry more than being called upon at all. "Five points to Slytherin, Mister Potter, for a very… enlightened explanation." Harry could only remember one other time when Snape had given him points. That had been exactly one day short of a year ago. Seeing as Harry had a near eidetic memory, that was saying a lot.

Snape turned to the students gathered before him. "As Mister Potter stated, ambition is fundamentally of no use if everyone's ambitions are the same. Success is the fulfillment of one's ambition, which is one of the things that makes it such a distinct pleasure to be sorted into the house." As he said this, his eyes briefly rested on Ginny Weasley, who flinched back noticeably. Harry could have winced for her. She would have to learn and evolve fast, lest she get eaten alive by the metaphorical pit of vipers that was Slytherin House as a whole.

"As such," Snape continued, his voice rising in volume as he prepared to end his lecture, "each and every single one of you will strive to achieve your goals and by extension, be a credit to the house you were sorted into." He took a moment to look pensively at each first year in turn. "Failure to do so will lead to my… displeasure."

With that parting message, Snape whirled, causing his robes to billow as he swept straight out of the Slytherin common room, leaving a herd of rather dumbstruck first years behind. Moments later, Calypso and Cassius stepped forward again and began the process of escorting the first years to their respective dormitories. Harry thought about leaving as well, but instinctively, he knew that his night was not yet over.

* * *

Charlotte walked in silence as she followed the older girl she had met weeks earlier in Diagon Alley towards her new dormitory. When Calypso wished the first years a goodnight and exited the room, Charlotte sighed and let her eyes roam freely. It was certainly much less luxurious than what she was accustomed to, but it was by no means unsuitable. There was plenty of free space and each of the beds looked warm, comfortable and inviting. Charlotte's trunk was at the foot of her bed, but she didn't need it tonight. Instead, she pulled a bag from her pocket that could fit easily in the palm of her hand, put it on her bed and enlarged it to normal size with a tap of her wand.

Before she could remove her pyjamas and change into them, a clearing of a throat caught Charlotte off guard. Before her stood the only Slytherin girl taller than her from the year. She too had platinum blonde hair, though her eyes were a stormy grey. "You're the youngest member of House Weitts, aren't you?" the girl asked in a smooth, sophisticated voice. Charlotte nodded, examining her closely as she tried to put together who the girl was. She was familiar, but not intimately so. "Slater," the other girl supplied, holding out her hand as she did so, "Laine Slater."

Charlotte nodded as she took the outstretched hand. Slater was another fairly new house to Magical Britain. Well, that wasn't exactly true, she supposed. They were actually set to become an Ancient House quite soon, but they were nowhere near as old as many of the prestigious families that lorded over the nation. The Slaters had turned themselves into economic giants quite recently in spite of their relatively young age. Laine's father, Henry had done wonders for the family's economic prospects, and they had gained a fair bit of notoriety as a result.

"A pleasure to meet you." Charlotte said with a winning smile. "You are the heiress, then?" Laine had a twin brother named Arthur, and Charlotte honestly could not remember off the top of her head which of the two were the heir or heiress. Out of the two of them, Charlotte had only thus far met Laine, but she certainly carried herself with the admirable poise of a pureblood heiress.

"I am, yes." Laine said, smiling. "Mind if I take this one?" she asked, gesturing to the bed across from Charlotte's. Charlotte had claimed the bed nearest the door, which was a fairly prime location in her estimation.

Charlotte shook her head, opening her bag and removing a pair of grey pyjamas made from sleek, acromantula silk. "Go right ahead." she said politely, not paying her new counterpart a whole lot of mind. She caught Laine smile at her from the corner of her eye before walking over to her own bed. Before Charlotte could do more than unfold her night clothes, her ears perked up at a drawl from across the room.

"What do you think, Weasley? Bit of a downgrade for me personally, but I'm sure this must seem like a manor home to you." Charlotte glanced across the room and frowned. A girl that she had never met was smirking confidently at Weasley, who flushed as red as her hair under the pressure. The two of them were both rather short. Weasley was the more athletic looking of the two, though perhaps an inch or two shorter than her counterpart. Her fiery red hair stood out rather vividly, and Charlotte had to admit that it went well with her slate brown eyes. In contrast, her counterpart's hair was a sleek black colour and it fell to right around her shoulderblades. Her eyes were every bit as dark as her hair, with their colouration resembling that of a block of cole.

To Weasley's credit, she didn't back down. When Charlotte had spotted her demeanour at the table, she had immediately taken her for a lost cause. She had been slumped, pale, and miserable looking. Now, she was bristling and she advanced on this other girl. Travers, Charlotte thought her surname was, and got right in her personal space.

"Keep your mouth shut about my family before I shut it for you!" Weasley hissed menacingly.

To Travers's credit, she did not give an inch. "I'll speak how I'd like, thank you very much. A bit rich, you know? The youngest member of a blood traitor family trying to tell me what I can and can't say."

"I'd rather my family be called blood traitors than be in Azkaban!" Ginny hissed, and all at once, the energy in the room changed as the tension thickened. "At least I've met my parents."

Travers flushed and quickly went for her wand, but luckily, Charlotte and Ares had the same idea.

"Expelliarmus!"

Charlotte's spell struck Travers while Ares's struck Ginny. Both girls promptly lost their wand and before anymore could come of the situation, Charlotte and Laine both stepped forward. Ares just scowled, looking as if she was more annoyed about being disturbed than anything else. As if to affirm the thought, she tossed Charlotte Ginny's wand before retreating behind her curtains. After a minute or so, Charlotte could feel wards rise around the bed. In the meantime, she currently had a situation to defuse, because she was rather intent on sleeping, and this distraction was unacceptable. Laine beat her to the squabble, though.

"Can we just hold off on this for a bit?" she asked, clearly exasperated. "I'd like to sleep at some point, and I'd rather not have to curse somebody's mouth shut."

Travers sneered, though Ginny did take a step back, even if she did not stop glaring forcefully at her counterpart. "Curse my mouth shut? I didn't see you take out your wand. Stay out of it, Slater. I have no interest in hearing or listening to you right now."

"What about me?" Charlotte asked, stepping directly in between Laine and Travers and looking down at the shorter girl with a blank expression and raised eyebrow.

Travers opened her mouth, paused, and closed it again. She could practically feel the magical tension radiating off of Charlotte and every bit of her was screaming to not oppose her. Travers scowled at Ginny one last time. "You're lucky she decided to play bodyguard for the night, Weasley." Travers held out her hand. "My wand, please?" Charlotte held it out to her, though she kept a firm grip on her own. The two girls locked eyes and Evelyn Travers nearly recoiled.

The look on Charlotte's face was very clear in its meaning.

Curse me and find out what happens.

Evelyn took her wand and quickly scrambled towards her bed, closing the curtains.

Charlotte turned to Ginny, who was now looking at the floor. "Here," she told her, offering the smaller girl her wand. Ginny took it but did not meet her stare. As the two of them made their way back towards their beds, Charlotte whispered several final words to the youngest Weasley. "Watch yourself, Weasley. No need to make enemies already. Not if you don't have a good reason, at least."

* * *

_**Back in the Slytherin common room…**_

After Snape had left the room and Harry had pondered for a few minutes, he had decided to briefly return to his dormitory in order to fetch something to read. He wound up reading his compendium on Ancient Runes for quite some time. Only when he heard the final sounds of students leaving for their respective dormitories did Harry look up. As he had expected, the room was now essentially empty. The exceptions were Grace, who was still sitting in the lounge and, to Harry's slight surprise, Rhea, the sixth year Slytherin girls' Prefect. To Harry's even greater surprise, Grace caught his eye and subtly gestured for him to join them. Harry had expected a conversation with Grace, but he had not actually considered that she would call him over to the rather symbolic collection of seats reserved for Slytherin's elite. Nor did he think she would do so in the company of anybody else, not even Rhea who, from what Harry could tell, was by far her closest friend.

Trying to mask all of these thoughts the best he could, Harry closed his book, packed it into his school bag, which he had also retrieved while up in the dorms, and made his way over to the two Slytherin Prefects, one sixth year, one seventh year. Of course, Grace was also the Head Girl, something that the shining badge pinned to the left of her chest made obvious. She still wore her Prefect's Badge as well, though it was now pinned on the right side of her chest.

"Relax, Harry; neither of us bite." Grace told him when he paused in front of them, gesturing to the spot on her left. Rhea was currently sitting to her right. Harry took the seat as instructed and took a moment to look at the common room from this perspective. Until now, he had never considered that he might one day end up in Grace's position. Now, as he examined the common room from the perspective she always saw it from, he made a single promise to himself that one day, he would be sitting in her spot.

Not because he had been invited to, but because he had forcefully seized it.

Of course, he was not delusional enough to think that would happen this year, or perhaps even next, but one day…

"Have you two ever met?" Grace asked, looking curiously from Harry to Rhea.

Harry shook his head, and Rhea answered verbally. "Not really. I escorted him to the common room last year and may have spoken to him a few other times throughout the year." She leaned across Grace, extending her hand. "Rhea Pax, Heiress of House Pax. It's nice to meet you."

Harry took her hand, briefly greeting her formally. "Harry Potter, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter and all the rest. A pleasure to meet you." Then, he looked at Grace.

"You seem a bit surprised." Rhea commented as the two leaned back in their seats once more, Harry still peering curiously at the girl in the middle.

Harry paused, wanting to carefully articulate his next sentence. "I was… under the impression that Grace and I were to continue as we had been last school year, at least while in public."

"And we are," Grace dismissed, "but this isn't public, is it?"

Harry frowned. "I don't doubt Rhea's trustworthiness and all the rest, but somebody could still just walk into the common room right now, could they not?"

"Of course they could." Grace said as if it were obvious. "They could walk right in at any time… and see me and Rhea sitting here alone, reading."

Harry blinked. "Um… how'd you manage that, exactly?"

"For what it's worth," Rhea said with a small smile, "I asked her the same question last year when she started doing it."

Grace's lips curved upwards. "It's a magical illusion." she explained to Harry. "Sort of a combination of wards and mind magic."

"I… didn't even know something like that was even possible."

"Most people aren't." Grace said honestly. "It's a pretty obscure technique. There are many variations of it. This is one that I created before my sixth year." For the first time in his memory of Grace, she allowed just a touch of pride to invade her tone. Again, Harry was reminded of her younger sister, if vaguely.

"That sounds… extremely complicated."

Rhea sniffed. "You should see the Arithmancy."

Harry winced. He really needed to start on that at some point this year. "I'll pass for now." he said, still mildly perplexed as to how natural Grace and Rhea were treating the whole situation.

"Have you figured out what's gone on tonight?" Grace asked. Harry was sorely tempted to say something along the lines of, "the sorting", but he knew that Grace was referencing everything with her specifically.

"You wanted me to stay and watch Snape talk to the first years to gather information, of some kind, for some reason that I haven't completely figured out yet. Then, you wanted me to stay to explain the reasoning, or what information I was supposed to pick up on, or a combination of the two?"

Rhea whistled quietly. "Not bad." she complimented, looking at Harry with a slightly heightened air of interest.

"Not at all." Grace seconded. "You're entirely correct, even if you've obviously not figured out the details. I wanted you to stay to observe the first years and how they answered the question. Snape always asks a question to the first years during the first night back. It's usually something to do with the house traits. Something that promotes either cunning or ambition."

Harry frowned. "He never asked anything last year."

Grace frowned too, obviously trying to remember. "No," she muttered quietly, "I suppose he didn't."

"That's odd." Rhea noted speculatively.

"It's certainly interesting." Grace agreed pensively. "Either way, he almost always, I suppose, asks a question to the first years. Questions like that let you get a gauge on them and what they may be after. At the very least, you'll get a feel for the mask that they'll wear, if they're smart enough to not just spill their personal information."

Harry nodded. "That… actually makes a lot of sense." his brow furrowed. "I'm still not entirely sure why you're telling me all this, though. Or, why you had me do it in the first place. Not that it's not useful. It was a good idea, but I'm not seeing a motive."

Grace laughed softly as Rhea eyed him with an entirely new air about her. "I have said this once and I will say it again." Grace told him. "You are the single, most paranoid child that I have ever met in my life."

Harry shrugged. "If the hat fits, I guess."

"I can promise you that I have no intention of leading you into anything that won't benefit you in the long run." Harry instantly knew that he was about to receive a half-truth. He also had a strong feeling that Grace was well-aware that she had just tipped him off. "I wanted you to try and get a gauge on the first years to see who may be a threat to my sister."

This only affirmed Harry's suspicion. Grace had not seemed concerned with the first years over the summer. It had been the likes of Macnair and Selwyn that had her worried. Still, Harry imagined there was some truth to it, though also some undertones that he was missing.

Still, he did not reveal any of those thoughts. "I see," he said, nodding along, "that makes some sense, I suppose." He yawned, glancing towards his dorms.

"You can go if you're tired." Grace told him, stretching her arms above her head. "I'm not far behind you, honestly." She fixed him with a stare. "8:00 PM on Friday."

Harry nodded as he stood to his feet, understanding the meaning well enough. "Works for me. Any ideas where yet?"

Grace took a minute to think and when she spoke, her voice carried too much significance for Harry to believe that it was a coincidence. "I'm honestly not entirely sure. I'm sure you can find a room that's suitable. Away from prying eyes and out of the way, preferably. I've heard that you're… quite knowledgeable about the secrets of the castle."

Harry nodded as he made his way back up towards his dorm. There was a tumult of thoughts crashing through his mind but one stuck out above all else.

Somehow, some way, Grace knew about the Speaker's Den.

* * *

_**September 2, 1992**_

_**The Grounds of Hogwarts**_

_**6:43 AM**_

Harry had not slept well that first night back at Hogwarts. His mind had been far too preoccupied trying and failing to formulate how Grace could possibly know of the Speaker's Den and what impact it would have on him and his friends. He was reasonably certain that she would never guess the password, but was it possible she could find another way of entering? Not that it was detrimental to him if she found it. He had nothing valuable in there or anything like that. But the room had become a fairly sentimental place for him, even though he had not yet spent a whole lot of time within it. It felt almost sacred at this point, and he could not, for the life of him, figure out how on earth Grace had managed to discover the room at all.

In the end, he had decided that it was probably best for his mental stability if he gave his brain an opportunity to forget things as complex as his current dilemma.

So instead, he'd made his way out onto the Hogwarts grounds and nicked one of the school brooms out of the shed. Technically, they weren't supposed to be used by students without permission, but Harry highly doubted that anyone would check the grounds at this time of the morning, and it was all too easy to open the shed. In fact, he didn't even bother using his wand to do so. Admittedly, the school brooms weren't great. They were certainly a step down from the brooms he had ridden for most of the summer at Weitts Manor. The same could be said for the Comet 260 that he had taken out a few times while over at Daphne's home. But still, there were few things that Harry enjoyed more than the wind whipping through his hair and the sensation of weightlessness that was brought on by flying.

He flew several laps at top speed around the lake before shooting off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. As he entered the stadium and flew straight through one of the goal hoops and out onto the pitch proper, Harry suddenly realized that he was not alone.

There was another figure on a broom up ahead of him, though he was facing the opposite direction and had yet to notice Harry's arrival. He was wearing Slytherin Quidditch robes, and the familiar number 5 was emblazoned on the back. With a jolt, Harry realized exactly who this was, and there was a moment where he pondered whether or not it was best to fly off. In the end, he decided against it and swooped up beside Cassius, giving the older Slytherin a rather nasty surprise that nearly sent him toppling off of his broom.

Harry couldn't help it. He burst out laughing right there, pausing to hover in the air as he doubled over on his broom. The look of shocked incredulity imprinted upon Cassius's visage had been far too much.

"Harry?" Cassius asked, too baffled to even bother his friend about the amusement Harry had felt as a result of his antics. "What are you doing out here?"

"I just wanted to clear my thoughts." Harry said honestly as they began to fly a leisurely lap around the pitch. "I like flying when I'm not limited by Hooch. I found that out this summer when I had brooms to use." Technically, he'd found that out in the catacombs last June, but he was hardly going to tell that story.

Cassius eyed him critically as he picked up speed, seemingly daring Harry to follow. Raising a brow, Harry did so. Cassius didn't speed up too much. He knew that Harry was on a school broom and if he put on a true spurt of speed, he would lose him rather easily. Still, he picked up the pace significantly, flying around the corner at that same, high speed. Harry took a moment to decide whether or not to slow down as the turn fast approached. On the Nimbus 1999, and even the Comet 260 he had frequented over the summer, it wouldn't have even been a thought. He would have simply taken the corner at top speed. But on this old, battered school broom that had an odd tendency to drift off to the left...

Deciding to bank on what seemed to be natural ability, Harry took the turn hard, turning in early and managing to keep his broom stable throughout. He even closed the gap on Cassius, something that seemed to take the older boy aback as he picked up speed once more.

And just like that, the two of them had a sort of game of cat and mouse on their hands.

Anytime there was a straight line, Cassius rocketed away from Harry with ease, aided by his superior broom and the fact that he could gain more momentum by leaning forward as a result of his greater mass. However, every time there was tight or continuous cornering involved, Harry managed to close the gap on Cassius in spite of the difference in their brooms, something the older boy viewed as absolutely remarkable.

When the two of them touched down on the pitch about an hour later, they were both smiling broadly and Harry was not sure he'd ever had so much fun in his life. Additionally, he felt as if his friendship with Cassius had just taken another large leap forward.

"You've got to try out for the team!" Cassius said excitedly.

Harry scoffed. "Cassius, I'm a second year. I've only been flying seriously for a few months and I've never played a game of Quidditch in my life. You're mental if you think I'd have any chance at making that team."

"No, Harry, I'm serious! I'm one of the better pure flyers on the team and you outflew me. I mean… yeah, I dusted you on the straights because of my broom, but you outmaneuvered me in the cornering while riding a broom that doesn't turn! Do you have any idea how incredible that is?"

"Honestly? No, I have no idea." Harry answered. "But even if it's as amazing as you make it sound, which I doubt, by the way, there's still the fact that — jeez, I don't know — I've never played Quidditch in my life?"

Cassius just smirked back at Harry. "Oh, Harry, I forget how innocent and naive you are sometimes." When Harry quirked a brow, Cassius elaborated. "You'll go for seeker! You don't need to have grown up playing Quidditch. For the most part, being a seeker hinges purely on flying ability and reflexes. I've seen how you fly, and I know from duelling that your reflexes are top notch."

Harry frowned. "Two things: one, I have so much going on that I don't even think I'd want to try out for the team." Honestly, between his own personal studies, his intent to further explore the castle, and his private lessons twice a week with Grace, Harry had no idea how he'd fit Quidditch into that schedule without compromising any of its other components. "And two," he continued, not allowing an incredulous looking Cassius to cut him off, "I thought you told me that Flint already had someone in mind for seeker?"

Cassius nodded, but the grin had not yet left his face. "He does, but I have a sneaking suspicion that when he sees you fly, he's going to change his mind real quick!"

Harry sighed. "You say 'when' as if you're going to manage to convince me to join."

Harry almost recoiled at the predatory expression that crossed Cassius's face. "Trust me, Harry, I am going to convince you to join."

* * *

_**About an hour later, in the Great Hall…**_

Cassius had led Harry into the Slytherin changing room after their impromptu practice, waving off any and all concerns that Harry shouldn't be there. As far as Cassius was concerned, Harry was a member of the team already. That confidence took Harry a bit aback, but as the changing room also held the nearest shower, he had not complained. When the two of them entered the Great Hall about ten minutes after the start of breakfast, they took seats near Calypso, Hestia and Flora. Daphne, Charlotte, Blaise and Tracey sat further down the table. Harry had shot them a questioning glance on his way into the hall, but Daphne had nodded, signalling that they didn't mind if he sat with his older set of friends.

As soon as they took their seats, Cassius wasted no time quietly informing the other three about what he called "Harry's prodigious abilities" on a broom. Truthfully, Harry thought he was blowing this way out of proportion, but even Calypso seemed grudgingly impressed by the account. She was still noncommittal in terms of backing Cassius's claims. She had never exactly been an advocate of Cassius playing Quidditch, after all. But still, that fact only made Harry all the more surprised that she hadn't shot him down at once. As usual, the Carrows, mainly Hestia, were vehemently assaulting Cassius verbally for his manic interest in Quidditch. Harry honestly found the whole thing quite hysterical, but unfortunately, the scene was cut off when an owl dropped a red, smoking letter in front of Ron Weasley, who's skin whitened at once.

Harry had briefly glanced towards the Gryffindor table when he had entered the hall. Charlus and his brother's ever present sidekick were indeed there, which meant that of course, Dumbledore had let his golden boy off the hook once more for an offence that surely would have led to expulsion in the case of any other student. The thing that annoyed Harry the most was that neither of them even looked that perturbed.

Of course, that all changed when the envelope arrived and the hall fell silent.

"What's the deal with the red envelope?" Harry whispered to Calypso as it started smoking and a frantic Ron Weasley began to look about the hall, as if pleading for some sort of divine intervention.

"You'll see." Calypso said with a smirk, leaning back as far as she could on the bench and stretching her arms leisurely above her head. "Just enjoy the show; any second now…"

Right on cue, there was a thunderous explosion emanating from the smoking envelope as it went off like a bomb. Suddenly, every square inch of the Great Hall was filled with the terribly high pitched tones of a woman who Harry assumed to be Ron's mother.

"RONALD WEASLEY!" Ron actually dove under the table as the rest of the hall focused their undivided attention upon the now screaming letter. Unfortunately for Ron, the table did nothing to protect him from the verbal onslaught that he was about to receive.

"STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE.

"LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND CHARLUS COULD BOTH HAVE DIED — ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!"

Mercifully for Ron and the ear drums of all in the hall, the letter then curled into ash upon the Gryffindor table and the voice of Molly Weasley ceased at once. Ron barely had the courage to poke his head out from under the table. Then, as the whole hall burst into fits of laughter, Weasley rushed to his feet, shaking like a leaf as he rushed out of the Great Hall. Charlus hesitated for only a moment, looking flushed and shaky himself before he followed. Harry noticed that he too had a letter clutched in his hands, but fortunately for the Boy-Who-Lived, it did not appear to be one that screamed.

"What the hell was that?" Harry asked Calypso, who smiled back at him as if she had just been privy to something truly special.

"That, Harry, was a howler. A right pain if it shows up in front of you, but terribly amusing when you're not the target, wouldn't you say?"

As immoral as it may have been, seeing as his brother was partially involved, Harry could not help but agree.

* * *

_**Later that day, in the Transfiguration Classroom…**_

"Compasatus Verto!"

Charlotte sighed in relief and had to actively resist the urge to jump for joy as finally, after spending the entire class working on it, she managed to transform the matchstick into a needle quite literally seconds before the final bell went off. Granted, it hadn't been a true transformation. Charlotte had been managing to transfigure small bits of the matchstick as the class progressed. Finally, it was only the very tip that needed to be transformed, and that final attempt had done it. Beside her, a thoroughly frustrated Laine Slater had not managed anything beyond changing the colour of her matchstick, but she was hardly the only one.

As a matter of fact, the only other student that had made significant progress at all was Ares Black. She, like Charlotte, had managed to fully transfigure the matchstick. Like Charlotte, she had also achieved the transformation in the closing seconds of the class, and to Charlotte's annoyance, she had no idea which of them had transfigured the matchstick first. Either way, both of them earned fifteen points from Professor McGonagall before they were dismissed from their final class of the day and allowed to go off to dinner.

Charlotte sighed; she would just have to ensure that she outperformed Ares Black and then some in Charms. After all, the Blacks did have a sort of affinity for Transfiguration, and Charlotte had always known the subject was not her strongest.

* * *

_**September 3, 1992**_

_**The Defense Against The Dark Arts Classroom**_

_**10:40 AM**_

As a whole, Harry's first day at Hogwarts had been uneventful.

After the clustered crop of chaos that had been his first fantastical year at Hogwarts, Harry was perfectly fine with the sudden dose of normality. Probably the most interesting or exciting thing from his first day, aside from Ron Weasley's howler and his fancy flying with Cassius, had been their first Herbology lesson with Professor Sprout and the Ravenclaws. They had repotted baby Mandrakes. Harry had read about Mandrakes awhile ago, but they were an interesting plant to him. On one hand, they could be used in an extremely potent healing draft. On the other, their cry, once fully matured, could quite literally kill anything and everything in range. Harry found both of those things interesting, but it was the blatant contradiction in their nature that intrigued him.

Usually, when something had certain properties, like healing properties, in this case, their nature would match that. For example, unicorn blood, as Harry had learned from Firenze the previous year, could quite literally save somebody on the brink of death. This was not all that surprising when one considered the natural resilience, docility and grace of a unicorn. But a Mandrake… the contradiction between their cry and their healing properties intrigued Harry, but he had not gotten the chance to ask Professor Sprout about it.

Now, exactly one day later, Harry was pretty much certain that his brief stint of normality was about to come to a dramatic end that would very likely resemble a rather tragic train wreck.

Most of the second year Slytherin students sat eagerly attentive as the bell rang to signify the start of their first lesson in Defense Against The Dark Arts under the famous folk hero that was Gilderoy Lockhart. Speaking of Lockhart, the very man himself made his dramatic entrance at the exact moment the bell rang, sweeping into the classroom wearing forget-me-not blue robes that greatly accentuated the colour of his eyes.

The entire class seemed to hold its breath as one. Each and every one of them had sky-high hopes for this class. Each and every single one of them were tingling with excitement, wondering what such a legendary figure could teach them about a branch of magic that he himself had mastered so thoroughly.

Every single one of them but Harry Potter.

Harry feigned blind interest like each and every one of his classmates but internally, he was indifferent.

No, that wasn't quite right. Harry was actually dreading this class.

While it was true that there had been the small downside of Professor Hurst turning out to be Lady Voldemort in disguise, she had, for better or for worse, been an absolutely magnificent teacher. Harry had learned an astounding amount from her both in and out of her class. He was quite certain that he would be nowhere near his current level of competence in the subject if not for Hurst's — or, he supposed, Voldemort's knowledge and, infuriatingly, her admittedly impressive skills as a teacher.

Even if Gilderoy Lockhart was everything he was chalked up to be, Harry was fairly certain that the Dark Lady's teachings would not be matched in or out of this class.

There was also the small conundrum of Harry being completely and utterly certain that Gilderoy Lockhart was a massive fraud.

Nobody that pompous could be legitimate. If the man was such a folk hero, Harry had a feeling that he would be out doing those magically moral things as opposed to hiding within the walls of Hogwarts, by example. But still, the rest of the class seemed convinced as to his competence so for now, Harry would play along.

From the front of the class, a smiling Lockhart plucked his own autobiography off of the top of Lillian Moon's pile of books.

"Allow me to introduce you to your new professor of Defense Against The Dark Arts — me." he said simply, doing his best to match the pose on the cover of the book that he held. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!" He gave a rather airy laugh, but to what Harry was sure was the man's dismay, nobody laughed along with him.

Maybe, if he was lucky, Lockhart could get away with this act in front of the Gryffindors. But if he was going to try it in front of Slytherin House, he was going to get metaphorically eaten alive faster than he could say hair gel.

If the lack of laughter perturbed their professor, the man didn't show it. On the contrary, he kept his wide, charming smile firmly in place as he continued his lesson.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books. Well done!" Harry could have gaped. He knew it would be bad, but not this bad. Lockhart was talking to them as if they were five! "I thought we'd start today with a little quiz." he said enthusiastically. Suddenly, the mood in the class changed. Harry figured it would be a joke, so he wasn't worried. "Nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about. Just to see how well you've read them; to see how much you've… taken in." With a wave of his wand, all of the tests began distributing themselves onto each desk. When Harry looked down at the test in front of him, he could have laughed out loud.

_1 - What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?_

_2 - What is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

_3 - When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday and what would his ideal gift be?_

And on and on and on the test went. All the way down to question 30, the last on the second page.

_30 - What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

Harry actively had to resist the urge to laugh. From beside him, Blaise was looking down at his test with an absolutely dumbstruck look on his face. "Are you ready to admit that I was right about Lockhart?" Harry asked smugly, referencing his previously voiced certainty that Lockhart was a fraud as well as Blaise's scepticism of the fact.

But to Harry's astonishment, Blaise looked at him, baffled. "What do you mean?" he asked, a glint now shining in his eye. "This is brilliant!"

Harry paused, seriously concerned for the wellbeing of his friend. "Um… Blaise? Can you please explain to me how, in any way, shape or form this is brilliant?" In response, Blaise simply reached over and turned Harry's quiz to the third page and pointed, smirking smugly. Confused, Harry looked down, and his eyes widened.

_31 - What is the most basic of the shield charms?_

_32 - What are the primary advantages and disadvantages of this charm? Explain each of them._

_33 - Explain what might happen if you were hit with the Furnunculus hex._

And on it went…

_40 - What is the name of the spell used to disarm another witch or wizard? Bonus points for if you can describe the spell's fundamental limitations._

_41 - What does the term "Esoteric Magic" mean?_

_42 - Give at least one example of an esoteric spell and explain why it meets the categorization._

Harry looked up sharply, unwilling to believe it. "It's an act…" he muttered, suddenly eyeing Lockhart with absolute disbelief. Blaise smirked knowingly and went back to his quiz, prompting a rather dazed Harry to do the same.

As it turned out, Harry had not even opened any of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. So sure he had been that Lockhart was a fraud, he hadn't even bothered. As a result, he was fairly certain that he absolutely bombed the first thirty questions. At around fifteen, he stopped taking them seriously. He and Blaise began to play a game of one-upmanship, taking it in turns to mug off Lockhart with their completely unrelated answers.

Once Harry reached past question thirty, he was fairly confident in his answers. Still… some of those questions definitely had not been second year Defense questions. The one on Esoteric Magic in particular had been well beyond second year. Harry had read about it in a book on magical theory, but only because of Voldemort bringing it up vaguely to him early in his first year, prompting a personal investigation, of sorts. Thankfully, he did have an example of an esoteric spell, but only because had read up on the Boggart banishing spell quite recently.

All around the class, there were varying states of surprise, dismay and even outrage as people began to reach the true meat of the test. Finally, half an hour or so later, Lockhart summoned all the papers to him and began rifling through them with ruthless efficiency.

"Tut, tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in _Year with a Yeti._ And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!" Now, Lockhart was drawing baffled, if not indignant looks from much of the gathered crowd.

"But," he said loudly, "Miss Pansy Parkinson remembered that my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil, and to market my own range of hair care products." Lockhart promptly rifled to the second half of the quiz. "Though her performance was… average, on the more… practical questions. Mister Harry Potter, however," he said, "seemed to know the answers to each and every one of these questions, which means he will be getting 100% on this first assignment!"

Harry's eyes widened. He definitely had not gotten any of the first thirty right.

But then, Lockhart explained.

"All of you, except for Mister Potter, it seems, fell into my ploy without ever seeing any of it. I admit, I expected a bit better from the house of cunning." When many of the faces around the room still looked bamboozled, Lockhart elaborated fully. "You see, I did do my best in the lead up to this job to look as overly narcissistic as one could possibly imagine." he smiled. "While it's true I do rather enjoy my smile and think I have done some rather noble things for the betterment of wizard kind, I am by no means Narcissus reincarnated.

"Now, let us see if you all do better with some more practical experience." Lockhart stooped and lifted what appeared to be a large cage covered in a dark cloth and placed it on his desk. With a flourish, he removed the cloth to reveal a cage of… "Freshly caught Cornish Pixies!" he exclaimed, smiling broadly out at them. When the class just looked back at him, some baffled, some incredulous, some openly smirking, he too smirked, wagging a finger chidingly at the class as a whole. "Tut, tut — you've all done it again. You've fallen into the trap of preconceived misconceptions." Then, he smiled deviously. "Think they're such a joke, do you? Well, let's see what you make of them!"

And he opened the cage.

All at once, pandemonium broke out.

Pansy Parkinson and Lilian Moon screamed as dozens of pixies lunged at both of their heads, intent on attacking their hair. Harry was the first on his feet, wand snapping into his hand from his holster. The first pixy to fly at him was immobilized with a full-body-bind, the next with a stunner. Then, about twelve of them jumped at him and Blaise, and he sent them all back with a knockback jinx.

Unfortunately, the rest of the class was not doing as well. Pansy was on the floor, shrieking as pixies pulled at her hair and ran through it like it was some kind of field. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott had already fled the room. Milicent Bulstrode was trying in vain to keep the pixies at bay by swinging a book, and poor Lily Moon was hanging from the chandelier. To their credit, Daphne and Tracey were taking down pixie after pixie with well placed freezing charms. Blaise kept sending them flying back with knockback jinxes while Harry picked them off one at a time.

The problem was, one at a time wasn't going to be good enough.

Harry was reasonably certain the pixies would be unsuccessful in hurting him, but they were going to trash the room unless he found a way of taking them all down at once.

Before he could get much further down that train of thought, Tracey cried out as she was jumped from behind and several of the devils bit into her neck. Harry whirled, but paused, unsure what to do. He knew that he couldn't hit Tracey with any spells that may immobilize them, so how else to draw out their discontent?

Then, it hit him.

Muttering an internal apology to Tracey, he took aim, ignoring the bastard of a pixie that decided to take a bite out of his arm as he did so.

"Aguamenti!"

A torrent of water surged from his wand, and though it also unfortunately knocked Tracey to the floor, it also sent all pixies around her scrambling. Immediately, Harry began to spray all of the pixies with jets of water, trying to back them all into the same corner. When he managed that, he kept the spray up, not quite sure how to immobilize so many at once…

"Somnium Horribilis!"

There was a blinding flash of white light that made Harry cringe from its brightness as Lockhart's strong voice rang through the room. Then, when the light faded, Harry was left gaping. All of the pixies were still there in the corner. Except, all of them seemed to be blissfully unconscious.

Harry turned to look at the man himself and realized that Lockhart was standing completely unscathed behind his desk. Not a single hair was out of place. As if realizing that Harry was questioning how that was possible when he hadn't even seen Lockhart cast a spell, their professor addressed Harry directly. "Throw something at me, will you, Mister Potter?" Perplexed, Harry grabbed a nearby quill and threw it at Lockhart. About a foot away from making impact, there was a brief pulse of blue light around Lockhart and the quill fell to the floor.

"The Vestamenterum shield." Lockhart explained. "It is of very little use against spells, but it will stop most blunt objects and brute force attacks. While protected by this shield, the pixies had no hope of touching me." He smiled smugly at the aghast looks on all of the faces of his students.

"As I am sure you all took note, it is also useful to learn a wide variety of spells. In particular, those with wide ranging effects." Lockhart looked at Harry directly now. "Your spell arsenal is impressive, Mister Potter, shockingly so for one your age. The Aguamenti charm in particular is astounding, not to mention very clever in the situation at hand. Yes, pixies do greatly dislike water, as I'm sure you all noticed. The flaw was that once you had them cornered, you had absolutely no idea what to do with them." Harry nodded; it was unfortunately true.

"Your homework," Lockhart said, summoning all of the pixies towards him and levitating them back into their cage before he began the necessary repairs on the room, "is two pieces of parchment. One will be on the Vestamenterum shield, its applications, its strengths and its shortcomings. The other will be the same, but it will be done while studying the Somnium charm and its modifier, Horribilis. Oh, and do pass the message onto those who fled, will you?" Lockhart winked as all of them sagged under the early year workload. "Well then — off with you!"

As Harry, Daphne, Tracey and Blaise left the classroom, Harry could hardly stand the terribly smug expression on Blaise's face. "Any comments, Harry?" he asked, amused.

Harry sighed, scowling at Blaise before officially conceding the point. "Well, I suppose I stand corrected."

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Thank you guys so much for 2000 favourites! We are now also starting to close in on 3000 followers!**

**The Lockhart scene is very similar to the one from **_**Harry Potter and The Prince of Slytherin**_**. That is done semi-intentionally. That story has definitely influenced how I will write Lockhart. That being said, the mystery that is Gilderoy Lockhart is VERY DIFFERENT in this story to PoS. Like… not even remotely close to being close kind of different, so you can all stop worrying about that now.**

**Oh, and shoutout to Dethryl's **_**They Shook Hands**_ **Series. Laine Slater was a character in that fic, and she had a twin brother in it as well. Those are the only things I'm borrowing in regards to her character, as everything else is original, but I like the name.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 8th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	27. SS Ch 9: Regretful Reminiscence

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Yoshi89, Fezzik and Luq707 for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you'd like to dive deeper further into the AoC universe, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Instagram. **

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 9: Regretful Reminiscence.**

* * *

_**September 4, 1992**_

_**The Defense Against The Dark Arts Classroom**_

_**2:30 PM**_

As all of the students filed out of the classroom, Gilderoy let out a long, heaving sigh. To say that he was drastically disappointed in the performance of the second year Gryffindors was an understatement. Sure, he didn't expect them to know the water conjuration charm like the Slytherin Potter, but he had expected a certain degree of competence. Especially when one of the members of said class was Charlus Potter.

Granted, the incompetence hadn't really been on the side of Charlus, even though he had shown himself to be lesser than his brother in the area. He, like his brother, had been rather efficient in taking down the pixies one by one. Unfortunately, it was rather obvious that Charlus did not have the same range of spells that his older brother possessed. He pretty much attacked exclusively with full-body-bind hexes as well as both the knockback and the impediment jinxes. Gilderoy supposed that his arsenal may not be as limited as it seemed. After all, most of one's arsenal wasn't exactly useful against pixies.

But he had a feeling that was not the case.

Hermione Granger too had been competent, but no more so than Daphne Greengrass of Slytherin. Both of them had applied the freezing charm, as had Susan Bones of Hufflepuff. Again, Lockhart had a student strung up by the chandelier, Neville Longbottom, this time. And again, most of the class fled before its conclusion.

But at least in the case of the Slytherins, they had actually managed to corner the beasts. When Gilderoy himself had entered the fray in that class, it was simply to finish the job. When he intervened on the behalf of the second year Gryffindors, it was an act of mercy. That, and he really didn't want to know what would happen if he let the pixies terrorize the lions for much longer.

All of this was fairly disturbing for Gilderoy for two reasons. First of all was that, at least as of this moment, Charlus Potter had been disappointing. That could not be allowed to continue for too long. Charlus Potter needed to be better than that for any of Gilderoy's plans to succeed. Well, need may have been a strong word, but it certainly had the potential to make Gilderoy's future plans much, much easier.

And Harry Potter… for all of Gilderoy's preaching about not falling prey to misconceptions, Harry Potter reminded him rather painfully of a tall, dark-haired girl who he had only met in person once before. In spite of that fact, he knew far, far more about the girl in question than he should rightfully know.

It was far too easy to be suspicious, but the mere fact that his brain had drawn that mental connection put Gilderoy instantly on edge. To say that would be detrimental to his plans would be something far beyond a simple understatement.

* * *

_**September 4, 1992**_

_**A Room In The Dungeons**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Harry felt a torrent of emotions crashing against his mind as he neared the room in which he was set to meet Grace in a matter of moments. The last time he had entered this room, it had been for a meeting with the first adult figure whom Harry had ever truly trusted. Then, days later, that same adult figure had turned out to be the furthest thing from trustworthy. To Harry, this room symbolized hours of hard work and steady progression under a marvellous teacher who had taken him forward by leaps and bounds. Regrettably, it also served as a symbol for what had happened the last time he trusted someone new so fully.

What if Grace was just another Amelia Hurst? Could he truly trust the seventh year Slytherin whom he practically knew nothing about?

On one hand, the Weitts family had provided him a home and treated him with the utmost kindness. On the other, that family too was secretive beyond belief. Grace wouldn't even tell him what the Weitts family crest meant, for Merlin's sake. Imagine hiding something that was quite literally supposed to symbolize your family. Harry had, of course, tried to translate it. He was far too curious a person not to have at least tried. Unfortunately, he had found out the hard way that it was not written in traditional Ancient Greek as he had initially suspected. It was certainly Greek of some sort, but Harry had absolutely no inkling beyond that. Some sort of abstract dialect, he suspected.

Did Harry trust Grace? Certainly not fully, but certainly more so than he did most people.

He shook his head forcefully as he approached the door to the room. These thoughts were provoked by memories that were apparently far more haunting than Harry had initially realized. There would be time to internalize all of this later. For now, he needed to enter this room with the same mindset he had perpetually frequented when stepping into his private lessons the year previous. The mindset that had allowed him to learn how to deflect spells non-verbally, and to cast other magic that should have been far, far above his current level.

To his mild surprise, when he opened the door, Grace was already present. Harry was taken aback, as he had sort of imagined her as the "fashionably late type". Certainly, he had not expected her to arrive before him, seeing as, though he didn't go out of his way to be early by any means, he could always be counted on to be punctual.

Equally surprising to him was that the room's decor, set up by Hurst the previous Christmas had been left untouched. He supposed the house elves must not have thought it harmful. In any case, Harry was hardly complaining, but he had also been quite sure that his favourite room in the Hogwarts dungeons would have awaited him bare and stripped upon his return to the castle.

"Good evening." Grace greeted, nodding approvingly at his punctuality. To Harry's surprise, she did not immediately start locking or warding the door. When he removed his own wand to cast the very limited number of useful spells he knew in the area, she cut across him. "There's no need; the room's warded already."

Harry blinked; he had never even known that. "It is?"

"Yes, very well actually. Whoever set them up clearly had a talent for warding. It was a nightmare for me to even find this place. There are powerful notice-me-not charms in the area that I had to work my way around. That's not even counting the intent wards cast on the place." Grace fixed Harry with a piercing stare as he tried to digest all that he had just learned. "No offense, but I very highly doubt that you would have found this place on your own." Harry didn't react, but he assumed Grace was probably right. "So, I'm curious, who cued you into the wards? And, for that matter, who set them up in the first place?"

Harry hesitated. "I… never actually knew that there were wards up at all. Honestly, I have no idea how to even cue somebody into wards. I thought I'd have known if I were cued in, no?" The "not knowing" thing wasn't true, but he had no idea how one would do it without telling him.

Grace seemed to ponder that question. "You would know, one would think. You don't have to be aware of the fact, but it's much more convenient and a whole lot less complicated to do so with the help of the person you're trying to cue in." she paused. "I can honestly say I'm not positive on how whoever cast the ward scheme managed it. It's… very impressive."

That fact did not surprise Harry at all. Not when they were speaking about Lady Voldemort. Say what you will about her, but nobody had ever called into question her status among some of the greatest witches and wizards to ever live in terms of their abilities with magic.

"What are we working on tonight?" Harry asked, smoothly diverting the topic of conversation. He was not foolish enough to believe that Grace was not well aware of the tactic, but she let him have his wish.

"I think we'll finally get to combat magic." she told him. "You'll be ready to start the next stage of Occlumency within the next week or two. I just need to do some final tests for stage one to make sure that you're set. We've spent a lot of time getting you there though, so we've neglected this area of practice."

Harry nodded, knowing all too well that it was true. He'd even thought so when Charlotte had made her rather bold gestures at the welcoming feast just days earlier. "So, what will we be working on tonight then? Specifically, I mean?"

"Probably not much of anything, tonight. I need to evaluate you, I suppose you could say. See which spells you know, what you're actually capable of in a duel, so on, so forth."

Harry felt butterflies come to life in his stomach. He could see where this was going and unbidden, memories of Grace's duel against Flint from over a year ago floated to the forefront of his imagination. He'd duelled Calypso several times and she had been incredible. For however good she was, Harry was quite positive that Grace was much better, at least for now.

He was equally positive that she had nothing on Lady Voldemort, but she had always held back considerably in their duels. She would often let him get his offense off simply so he could go through the motions, even though she never let any of it be remotely effective.

"I think a mock duel or two would be a good way to start." Grace proposed. "It will be the most draining part of the night, so best to get it over with out of the gate. Plus, it will probably narrow down the spells I'll have to ask you about, since I would imagine you'll try to use some of them against me."

Harry nodded stiffly, summoning his wand from his holster and squaring off with Grace. Of course, both of them knew this was only going to end one way. "I probably won't be too offensive." Grace informed him. "This is for me to gauge you, so I'd prefer if you took a more offensive style. I'll play defense for the most part, but I'll test your defenses when you leave an opening. Anything I use that could actually do real damage, I'll incant out loud." Harry nodded again, setting his jaw. "Are you ready?"

Another nod. "What's legal?"

Grace actually took the time to roll her eyes. "Harry, just try and curse me. I'm not overly worried by anything you might try." He regretfully had to admit that she had a point. "On your move."

As fast as he could, Harry snapped his wand up towards Grace.

"Stupefy!"

She easily slid out of the way, not even bothering to block or defend the stunner in any way. Fortunately, that was what Harry had hoped for. His wand moved in fluid motions as he chained his next two spells together — a cutting curse and a disarming spell. Grace's eyebrows rose at the former, though she defended both easily. She leaned out of the way of the cutting curse, allowing it to quite literally miss her by inches. Harry almost paused at that feat. It was as if she had seen the spell in slow motion, such was the precision of her movements. Of course, it was not the first time he had thought this during a duel. Voldemort had given him a similar feeling on several occasions, and it was that fact that allowed him not to pause as Grace batted away his stunner with what seemed to be no effort at all on her part.

Before Harry could go on the offensive once more, Grace's wand moved like quicksilver. Three spells raced towards Harry at top speed. He shielded using Protego and allowed the spells to spark harmlessly off of his shield. For the first time, Grace actually looked impressed, but she didn't pause.

"Bombarda."

If not for his memory, Harry would have lost right there and then. Fortunately, he could recall Hestia using that spell against Calypso on several occasions. Granted, it had never been successful, so he didn't know exactly what it did. But seeing as Calypso had never relied on a shield to stop it, he figured it was probably in his best interests to follow her example. It was with this in mind that he rolled to the side, just avoiding what appeared to be a stunner from Grace before he was on his feet once more.

"Aguamenti!"

Harry had planned to send the jet of water towards Grace and freeze it, hopefully causing a loss of balance or freezing of a limb. Grace never let him get that far. As the water streaked towards her, she twisted her wand in a tight motion and just like that, Harry could practically feel his control over the water torn away from him as suddenly, twice as much water as he had conjured came crashing towards him.

"Flagrate!"

This fire conjuration was the only thing Harry could think of to stop the water. It was similar to Incendio in the fact that it conjured a similar amount of fire. However, unlike Incendio, it gave the caster a more direct ability to manipulate the conjured fire. The downside was that this made it much more difficult to cast, let alone control. By example, Harry had done it once at the end of last year, only days before his confrontation with Voldemort while the aforementioned Dark Lady supervised him. But that had been a rather poor, if admittedly successful attempt.

To his credit, Harry did cause a great amount of fire to surge from his wand. It collided hard with the wall of water, and suddenly, steam billowed from the point of contact and began to fill the room as the two opposing elements effectively neutralized one another. Harry recast the spell as soon as the steam had billowed and did his best to send flaming ropes towards Grace. Unfortunately, he did not quite have that level of control over the spell. The flames did indeed morph into ropes, but they also quickly lost all distinguishable form about halfway towards Grace, making Harry's attack a fair bit less effective.

Not that it would have mattered.

Before the fire could reach her, Grace had neutralized the flames and then, with a swish of her wand, conjured four serpents, which all advanced on Harry.

For a heartbeat, Harry was about to simply call them off with Parseltongue as his instincts very nearly kicked in. Then, the logical part of his brain that remembered all of the monstrous implications that would follow such an act reared its ugly head and fortunately, the potential crisis was averted. On the downside, his hesitation had given the snakes time to edge nearer to him.

He could burn them with fire, but they were close enough to him that he might very well burn himself in the process. And that was discounting the possibility of the snakes striking him before he could conjure up the requisite fire. For that latter reason, something like cutting curses was also out. He would never get four of them off in time. Right about now, Harry really wished he knew how to vanish matter, but he hadn't the foggiest idea. As a result, he quickly signaled defeat, prompting Grace to vanish all four snakes with a long sweep of her wand.

"Impressive," Grace complimented, "your arsenal is a bit limited compared to an upper year, but it's outstanding for a second year. You still need more weapons though. You were completely at my mercy at the end since you had no way of countering the attack."

"How would I have beaten that, anyway?"

"You could have done a number of things. The most effective would have been to vanish the snakes. That's a sixth year spell that is probably beyond you right now, but you'll be working on it, since conjuration will be a problem against older opponents. I purposefully avoided it for most of the duel to draw it out, but as soon as I introduced it, you had no chance." She had a point, loathe as he was to admit it.

"You also could have conjured your own animals to fight the snakes but again, that's pretty advanced. Definitely more difficult than vanishing and probably still not feasible at the moment. You could've shielded, but it would have only delayed the end. The Protego shield, which, by the way, I am very impressed that you know, only covers your front. At least one of the snakes would have slithered around the shield, and then you'd be in even more trouble."

"Are there any shields that protect a wider area?"

"There are, but they're probably beyond you, for now. That's N.E.W.T level defense, and not the easy kind, either." Grace appraised him. "Before I test your spell range itself, is there anything you didn't get to show off in that duel that you think I should know about?"

Harry shrugged. "I can deflect some less powerful spells. I haven't worked my way up to curses yet, but I can do pretty much any jinx and most hexes."

Grace's eyebrows rose. "That is… very advanced magic for your age."

Harry smirked. "I know; it's how I got my O+ in Defense."

Grace nodded thoughtfully. "That would definitely do it, yes." Then, she turned to the dummies on the far wall. "Well, are you ready to continue?"

* * *

_**Some time later, in the Slytherin common room…**_

Harry was fairly satisfied with his session by the time he returned to the Slytherin common room, making sure to enter several minutes ahead of Grace as to not indicate that they had been together. True, he hadn't got to learn anything new that night, but Grace had been pleased with what she had to work with and seemed confident that she could greatly improve his combat abilities by the end of the school year.

When Harry did eventually enter the common room, he could not help but notice a rather grim mood. Quickly, his eyes darted to the lounge, remembering last year's disaster. This time, nobody was foolish enough to take Grace's seat, so Harry could only assume that the atmosphere had nothing to do with a challenger to her position. In fact, after briefly investigating the room, Harry couldn't come to any obvious conclusion as to what had caused the sort of stupor.

Swiftly, he made his way over to his three friends, who were joined at a table by Charlotte and the tall, blonde first year girl who Harry didn't know. It appeared that all of them were doing homework, but judging by the way Charlotte's eyes rose just in time to meet his before he took a seat with the group, at least one of them had been mildly distracted.

"Harry Potter, Laine Slater." Charlotte said, quickly and efficiently introducing the two of them.

Laine bowed her head before offering her hand as they went through the customary greeting. Laine's eyes did not leave Harry as he turned to the rest of the group. "I don't suppose anybody wants to fill me in on what I missed?"

"The possible destruction of the Slytherin Quidditch team." Blaise said nonchalantly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"Well, it was already without a seeker," Daphne reminded him, "and now it's without a Captain."

Harry had to resist the urge to gape. "What? But Flint's still at Hogwarts, isn't he? Did something happen to him?"

"Not that we know of." Daphne answered in a hushed whisper. "He just… got up in front of the common room and said he had an announcement to make."

"At first," Tracey added, sounding anxious, "we thought he was going to be thick enough to challenge Grace again. But he wasn't. He just stood up and told everybody that he was resigning as Quidditch Captain."

Something about that seemed… off, to Harry. If Cassius was to be believed, Flint was a borderline fanatic. It seemed a stretch that he would leave the team so willingly and seemingly in spontaneous fashion. But the evidence was right there, staring him in the face.

"I don't suppose anybody knows why he decided to resign?"

"He said it was to pursue academics." Laine quoted, her voice making it very clear that she didn't believe it. When Harry raised his eyebrows, she sighed. "I know a bit about Flint. Our families are fairly close. Not personally, but as business partners. I never exactly got the feeling that he was too bothered by school."

"He's a good duelist." Harry commented.

"But Grace destroyed him!" Tracey whispered.

Harry shrugged. "Trust me, Tracey. I've seen quite a few students duel, and Flint is good. Grace is just a prodigy, or something. Either way, she's just on another level altogether. It had everything to do with her and nothing to do with Flint."

Laine shrugged. "Maybe he's changed, I don't know. Honestly, I try not to get tangled up with him and his mother."

"His father's dead, right?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yes," Charlotte answered, her eyes finding Harry again as if to watch for a reaction, "he died a few months before the fall of the Dark Lady. There were rumours, of course. There actually were with most families around the time, but nothing was ever proven."

Harry just nodded and withdrew into his own thoughts, allowing the conversation to continue on around him. His thoughts were a bit jumbled, but they could be effectively summarized in a fairly succinct manner.

Harry had a bad feeling about Marcus Flint.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom…**_

"So?" a hushed voice asked, sounding a little bit more than exasperated.

"So, now that Flint's out of the picture, it's our perfect chance!"

"Why do you think I care, Cassius?" the first voice asked again. "Since when have I ever cared about anything relating to Quidditch, ever?"

"You haven't, but it's about more than Quidditch!"

"Oh, please, we both know it's entirely motivated by Quidditch on your end."

"Even if that's true, we both know that I'm not wrong. It would boost his position in the house and keep him out of the crosshairs of the upper years. It helps him and it might just help us if we play our cards right."

"He's our friend, Cassius."

"Of course he is, but that doesn't mean we can't all benefit from the friendship."

"From what you told me, he seems to think pretty similarly to how I think about it. I doubt staying out of crosshairs will be enough for him to give up his time. He's barely ever in the common room, so he clearly keeps busy enough."

"True, but I'm sure we can convince him."

"You're missing the point! I have no reason to convince him!"

A pause, and then… "Really? I'm sure your dad would love to know more about him."

"My father's never even spoken to me about him-"

"Funny, because he spoke to my parents. It's just a matter of time, Calypso. If I were you, I'd make sure we were all in the best positions when that happened."

* * *

_**At that same moment, in the Headmaster's Office.**_

Dumbledore looked up from his stack of papers just as a bluish light blinked into existence in the center of his office. A second later, the blue light solidified into the form of a man. After spinning at break-neck speeds for a fraction of a second, the man's feet touched down on the floor. After a brief stagger, he righted himself, ran a hand through his dark, windswept looking hair and adjusted his glasses.

"Good evening, James." Dumbledore greeted his friend with a warm smile. "I do hope you haven't been working too hard?"

"Less now compared to last year." James answered, taking the seat across from his old Headmaster. "This year, there's no Gringotts break-in to investigate. Thank Merlin it's the HIT wizards who dealt with the raids over the summers and not the actual

Aurors."

Dumbledore nodded. "That certainly would have taken up valuable time on your schedule. Speaking of which, I am curious, James. Why did you wish to take time off of your schedule to meet with me on this rather chilly evening?"

There was a brief pause in which it was very evident that Dumbledore was waiting for James to speak. For his part, the aforementioned Senior Auror looked intensely uncomfortable. It appeared as if he were battling with his own internal thoughts, as if he were trying to untangle them and bring them back under his control. After a moment, James finally spoke. "I think it's time we talk about my son."

Dumbledore frowned. "It was very troubling, Charlus's behaviour on the first of September. I am sure he will learn from his mistakes, however-"

"My other son, Albus."

Immediately, the atmosphere in the room changed as Dumbledore realized exactly what kind of conversation he had unknowingly entered himself into. Given the timing of James's request for a meeting, he had justifiably assumed that it had something to do with Charlus's rather dramatic arrival at the castle on the first of the month.

Internally, Dumbledore sighed but externally, he maintained a perfectly calm visage as he steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, inspecting the man in front of him critically. "I'm afraid you are going to have to be more specific, James. There are a number of things we could doubtlessly speak on at length in regards to Harry."

"Damnit, Albus!" James cursed. "Stop stalling! You're just making this harder for both of us! You know why I'm here!"

"I would not go as far as to say that I know of anything. I can assume, however, that it has something to do with the… drama concerning Harry over the summer holidays?"

James snorted. "You and your damn gift for understatement." There was a pause in which James realized Dumbledore really wasn't going to make this easy on him. "You promised me in June that you were going to make sure it didn't happen again." There was an obvious note of accusation in James's voice, and though Dumbledore did not immediately answer it, he made no move to defend himself either. "You said that you wouldn't let them mistreat him again."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and leaned back. "I have made severe mistakes, James." he began.

"No shit." James deadpanned. "That's exactly why we're here."

"True, true." Dumbledore agreed. "I am assuming that you wish to hear my reasoning before you pass your judgement?" When James nodded, Dumbledore sighed, this time out loud. "I was a fool, James. I fell into the same trap that I fell into almost eleven years ago now."

"What do you mean?"

"On that night in Godric's Hollow, you mentioned your… concerns with sending Harry to live with his aunt and uncle. At the time, I believe I preached to you my belief that with the death of her sister, Petunia would surely wish to turn over a new leaf. That surely, she would want the best for Lily's son in honour of her memory." Dumbledore looked pained as he paused, as if to collect his thoughts.

"I really did believe that, James." he said quietly. "I really believed that Harry would be treated, at the very least, decent. I never wished to see a boy raised in such a way. Last year, after Harry arrived at Hogwarts and after you spoke with him in Hogsmeade, it was clear to the both of us that he had not been raised with as much decency as I suspect either of us had hoped for. But even then, I made the same mistake. I thought that perhaps, Harry was overdramatizing things. Or, at least, that his treatment was simply mean spirited and not outright malicious."

The Headmaster slowly shook his head as James sat stone still, letting Dumbledore speak as he did his best to take in every word. "I was wrong, James." the old man admitted. "After Harry went missing this summer, I… paid a visit to the home in which he was raised and did some… investigating."

"And?" James asked, suddenly noticing a rather rapid increase in his pulse. This was news to him. He'd done his own investigations over the past number of weeks. He had interviewed some of Harry's old teachers and spoken with characters like Arabella Figg. But even he had not gone straight to the source. He thought that he had gained a picture of just how badly the two of them had failed Harry, but he was suddenly worried that perhaps he had yet to discover the depths of the sins they would one day need to atone for.

"It was much, much worse than I'd imagined. They did not just neglect Harry, they went out of their way to mistreat him." James's heart sank as he suddenly had all of his worst fears confirmed. "If I am being fair, a more accurate summary may be that Vernon Dursley went out of his way to mistreat Harry while Petunia stood by and watched. She was certainly neglectful, but I do not think she was outright abusive."

"Is that supposed to be a defense of her?"

"Of course not." Dumbledore said in a rather clipped voice. "I was disgusted, James. Disgusted with the both of them for what they had done to Harry, but disgusted with myself above all others. For years, those in the Neutral and Conservative factions, which, as you well know, house many of my most vocal detractors have said that I am too forgiving. They have said that my ability to see the best in everybody is not a strength as much as it is a weakness. Why, I believe the two of us once had a point of contention on the matter." James nodded, remembering exactly how strongly he had argued against Dumbledore's favourable treatment of Snape.

"The worst part, James, is that a part of me always knew they were right. Not unconditionally, of course. But there was a time, many years ago, when that very weakness had been my undoing. And now, all these years later, that weakness rears its head in the ugliest of fashions. I thought too highly of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. My belief in the goodness of people whom I did not know condemned a child to ten years of misery, and it led me to unwillingly throw him into an environment the likes of which I hated above all others."

"What do you mean by that?" James asked pensively, though by now, his voice was quite cracked.

Dumbledore paused and seemed to ponder something. To James, it looked very much as if the Hogwarts Headmaster was deciding whether or not to reveal a piece of information. For a terrifying moment, the Potter Lord thought he was about to find out that Dumbledore had yet again withheld information about the prophecy. But when Dumbledore visibly deflated and seemed to age decades under James's stare, he spoke not of the future, but of the past.

"You know, of course, that my sister met her end many years ago in Godric's Hollow?" James nodded, suddenly worried. The Potters had once been neighbours of old Bathilda Bagshot. She had told them frankly outrageous stories about Dumbledore. Honestly, James had been too afraid to ask the man himself about them. In particular, whether any of the tidbits about him and Gellert Grindelwald being close as teens was true.

"Bathilda told me." he said quietly.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Oh, I do wonder of the things that Bathilda may have told you. Nevertheless, this was one secret that I do not believe she was ever made privy to. When my sister was young — seven, to be precise, she was… attacked by a group of muggle boys that had seen her performing magic." Dumbledore's voice was hollow and in all the years of knowing the man, James had never heard him sound so defeated.

"Was-was that how she died?" James asked, shocked. "Was it that bad?"

"Oh, no, Ariana lived for several years after the encounter. As for how bad it was… my poor father went to Azkaban in search of retribution." James actually flinched at that revelation. "My sister was never the same after that in many ways. Among them, she was afraid of her magic. She repressed it with every fibre of her being, but a force so free and powerful as magic does not allow itself to be suppressed so easily. This took a great toll on my sister, and I believe it was the catalyst for the myriad of issues that plagued her in her final years."

Now, for the first time in several minutes, Dumbledore looked up and met James's eyes. The old man wasn't crying, but there was an obvious wetness at the corner of his eyes. "They tried to do that to Harry, James. Vernon feared magic, just like those muggles who hurt Ariana. Petunia did not, but she was too spiteful of its very existence to intervene. My fatal flaw led me to not only overlook behaviour like that which essentially sentenced my sister to death, but it forced another child into a similarly pitiful existence."

A long, painful silence stretched between the two men as Dumbledore cast his stare downwards towards the desk, unwilling to meet his one time protege's eyes. To say that James was horrified by all of these revelations would have been an understatement. But still, it pained him to see a man who had been something of a grandfather type figure to him feel this much pain at memories both known and unknown to him.

Tentatively, James reached across the desk and rested a hand on Dumbledore's forearm. "But it's worked out, hasn't it? Harry's escaped the fate of your sister. I… doubt he's right pleased with us, but even if he'll never look at us the same way again, he's at least alright, isn't he? We can at least help him, right? We can do right by him?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I wish it was that easy, James, I really do. For now, of course I will do everything in my power to assure that Harry experiences every positive aspect of life that my sister missed out on. But… we must assure that the prophecy does not come to pass." James bit his tongue. If truth be told, he really didn't know how to respond to that. "Fortunately," Dumbledore continued, finally allowing a trace of hope to enter his voice, "the methods with which I believe said prophecy can be averted seem as if they will steer Harry onto a favourable path."

"So no more sending him back there?" James practically implored.

"Never again." Dumbledore agreed. "I would never condemn him to that place again, prophecy or no. Besides, the blood wards have now fallen, as of a number of weeks ago."

"But you have a plan?" James asked with no small amount of suspicion.

"My plan, James, is to fix the bond between the twins. They have had time to cool off, so it is my hope that cooler heads shall prevail. I am in no rush to force the two of them together, but I would like very much to integrate Harry once and for all back into the family in which he should have grown up in."

In spite of himself, James smiled. Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope after all.

* * *

_**September 5, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:53 AM**_

All in all, Harry had enjoyed his first week at Hogwarts this year. Much of that enjoyment had actually come from the relative normality that had made up pretty much the entirety of the week. The most eventful things that had happened had been Ron Weasley's howler, his early morning flying session with Cassius, his first lesson under the not-so-fake after all Gilderoy Lockhart, and of course, his lesson with Grace last night. There was also that bit where Grace had maybe found out about the Speaker's Den? Harry still wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

There was certainly a part of him that thought he was overthinking things, but there was also a much larger, much more insistent part of him that was telling him he was most certainly not overthinking anything at all. In the end, he'd decided that as of now, there was very little he could do about it one way or the other, so he would leave well enough alone. He would, of course, keep an eye on Grace, but anything more than that wasn't exactly feasible.

This morning, Harry was planning to maintain his normal routine. He had just finished breakfast with Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, Laine and Charlotte. Now, he was off to the library to look for more introductory volumes for Ancient Runes. The rest of his group were going to join him, some for homework purposes, some simply to stick with the group at large.

As the six Slytherins exited the Great Hall, Harry's streak of normality was unfortunately about to come to a rather screeching halt.

The sextet noticed a commotion at the bottom of the marble staircase. In typical fashion, that was the exact direction in which they needed to travel in order to reach their destination.

As they drew nearer, they all spotted the exact cause of the uproar.

A small, red-headed girl wearing Slytherin robes was standing a few steps from the bottom floor, very obviously wanting to get through. Standing in front of her, with the Git-Who-Lived at his side, was Ron Weasley, who was very clearly not letting his younger sister past. The approaching group of Slytherins could hear Weasley giving his sister a rant for the ages about how she was in some way or another a disgrace to the Weasley family because she had been sorted into the house of junior Death Eaters. Charlus said nothing beside him, but he didn't exactly do anything to stop the tirade either.

"Oi, Weasley!" Harry said as the group suddenly closed in on the commotion. Ron whirled, red-faced and blotchy to spot the group of students who were now directly in front of him. If the narrowing of his eyes was anything to go by, he wasn't overly thrilled to find a group of Slytherins standing nearby, least of all in his current state of mind.

To Harry's mild annoyance, he found his twin brother to be glaring at him, but he ignored the git altogether. Honestly, if Charlus wanted to be petty, that was his own decision. Harry had better things to do than return his brother's ire.

"What do you want, Potter?" It was very clear by Weasley's snarling voice that his patience, which seemed essentially non-existent at the best of times, was running particularly thin today.

"Well, Weasley, since you asked so nicely, I'd really appreciate it if you'd get out of the way. And while you're at it, maybe don't harass your sister for the colour of her robes. For somebody who goes on and on about how bigoted our house is, you seem to spend an awful lot of time judging other people."

There was a very brief pause when the tension in the air was palpable and Harry realized a fraction of a second too late that he had pushed Weasley just a little bit too far. Before he could do so much as move, the other boy brought his hand up, hard, curling it into a fist as he did so and smashing it forcefully into Harry's nose.

Harry did not fall, or cry out, or give any other major reaction beyond stumbling back, as much in surprise as pain. Honestly, Ron Weasley's punch paled in comparison to that of Dudley, who was twice his size. Even that said nothing for Vernon on the rare occasions when that had been a reality. In saying that, Harry did immediately notice a thin stream of blood was now flowing from his nose.

Harry had two, conflicting instincts. The first was to draw his wand and curse Ronald Weasley into oblivion. The second, unfortunately, was a direct contradiction to the first. It was to either run or cower. Not because he feared Ron Weasley, or even because the punch had done a whole lot. But because for the majority of his life, those had been his only two options when somebody lashed violently out at him.

Fortunately for Harry, before he could make a decision, Ron Weasley had five wands aimed directly at his face. Luckily for the red-head, Charlus dove towards his best friend, knocking them both to the floor and causing the spells of Daphne, Blaise and Tracey, who had all cast at once and without hesitation, to sail over the two boys' heads.

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

Before the duel could truly break out, a loud voice permeated the air and in seconds, yet another red-head had joined the fray. This one was, however, the eldest Hogwarts attending son of the Weasley family, and his Prefect's badge gleamed importantly on his chest. Seconds later, a blonde Ravenclaw Prefect whom Harry did not know followed Percy into the commotion. It was her who forcefully commanded all of the younger students to put their wands away as Percy began to verbally take his brother to task.

"And what, exactly, is going on here?" asked a silky smooth voice just as the commotion was quieting down, with the exception, of course, of the crowd that had gathered around them, obviously trying to instigate something. It was, as Harry had known immediately from the man's voice, Snape. Before anybody could get a word in, Charlotte was speaking, and Harry had to resist the urge to widen his eyes. As opposed to her normally smooth, confident voice, Charlotte put on a frightened, rambling tone that perfectly portrayed the wide eyed, innocent first year girl who could win over any teacher who she set eyes upon.

"Harry's been attacked, Professor! That boy just punched him in the face! We were just trying to get by, Professor, I promise!"

"Rubbish!" Weasley spat back. "They were harassing us, they were-"

"Show him your face, Harry!" Charlotte commanded in a more normal tone of voice, cutting forcefully across the sputtering red-head. Indeed, Harry had been squeezing his nose in an effort to stem the flow of blood a moment before. He'd actually planned to heal the malady with the Episkey spell that Calypso had taught him last year, but the Ravenclaw Prefect had been rather insistent about no wands, and her and the eldest Weasley had been rather busy preventing all of the students from killing one another.

"Your face, Potter." Snape seconded, levelling Harry with his dark, intense eyes. Hesitantly, Harry removed his hand, which immediately allowed the blood to flow more freely. Snape scowled and made to draw his wand and aim it at Harry, but the Slytherin youth flinched back. Something changed in Snape's eyes in that exact moment, and he seemed to change tact.

"Weasley!" he snapped, obviously in reference to Ron. "You will come with me, now! We will be seeing your Head of House." Ron made to protest, but his older brother shoved him forward and before he could resist any further, Snape had taken a vice like grip on his arm and had begun to lead him up the marble staircase and towards Professor McGonagall's office.

"Move along, everybody, move along!" Percy Weasley ordered, gesturing for the crowd to to return to whatever they deemed to be normality. Charlus glared at Harry one last time before trotting off in the direction of the Great Hall. Ginny Weasley made to follow, but Harry watched as she was stopped by her older brother before she could get there, right before he and the rest of his group returned on their path to the library.

"Harry, you should find somebody to fix your nose." Daphne said immediately.

Harry rolled his eyes, batting her hand away as she reached out towards him. "Get off, Daphne, I can do it myself." With a well-practiced motion, Harry's wand was in his hand and a second later, he had stopped the flow of blood.

Blaise whistled. "Where'd you learn that one?"

"Calypso." Harry answered honestly, seeing no reason to lie.

"Wish the elder Weasley would have let us curse the idiot!" Daphne said, rubbing the handle of her wand suggestively.

"He's not worth detention." Harry said reasonably.

"That's your opinion, Harry."

"Yes, it is. Personally, I'll be perfectly happy with a normal year at Hogwarts. I'd rather stay out of all of this drama. If Weasley's going to be a git, he may as well get it out of his system now. Next time, I'll make sure to be ready and won't let him get off a lucky punch."

"You took it well, though." Blaise complimented with a smirk, drawing a glare from Daphne.

If it wasn't for the two tagalong first years, Harry might have chanced a rather morbid joke about his childhood. Instead, he settled for a more normal reply. "Why thank you, Blaise. But honestly, the prat hits like an eight year old. It was more his doing than mine."

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom…**_

Ginny crossed her arms and stared up at her oldest brother residing within the castle. She couldn't say that she appreciated being dragged off in front of about a hundred onlookers by a Prefect, let alone her brother. For one thing, it was rather embarrassing. For another, she could only imagine what people would be saying in a few hours if her brother had indeed not exaggerated the Hogwarts rumour mill.

"What is it that's so important that you literally had to drag me off in front of half of the school, Percy?"

Percy raised his hands in a placating manner. "Is it a crime for a brother to worry about his little sister, Ginny?"

"I'm fine, Percy."

"Like hell you are! I saw your reaction the night of the sorting. And honestly, I might not be cunning like all of you lot in green and silver, but I am observant, Ginny, especially when I want to be. You've sat alone at most of the meals, and I can't remember seeing you talking with anyone. Either this means you're being forcefully cast out of the group by the others, or it means you're doing so voluntarily, which implies that you're not having an easy time integrating into the house."

Ginny blinked rapidly. "You… figured all of that out just from watching me?" Percy just stared back at her, as if implying that should have been obvious. "I think the hat made a mistake." Ginny said bitterly. "Maybe it should've been you in Slytherin."

Percy's eyes darkened as he made a weak attempt at humour. "Hey! All outstandings on my O.W.L's, remember?" When the joke fell flat, Percy sighed. "Okay, fine, you're not in the mood and I'm not as funny as the twins." He looked as if that revelation physically pained him. "But can you at least be honest with me, Ginny? What's gone on this week? Are you okay? Can I help in any way?"

Now, it was Ginny's turn to sigh. "Okay, okay, I can tell you're not going to drop this. It's been… hard, I guess. I… never expected to end up in Slytherin. I always thought I'd be like you guys and be in Gryffindor, you know? Even if I didn't, I thought maybe Hufflepuff, but never Slytherin. It was… it is… a bit…" she trailed off, not knowing how to finish the thought.

"Shocking?" Percy offered gently. "Jarring? Off-putting?"

Has

"Yeah, all of those things, honestly. It's-it's been hard." Ginny admitted in a small voice. "I always looked forward to Hogwarts, you know? Mum was always super overprotective-"

"It's because she loves you, Ginny-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get that, but it's still true, isn't it?" Reluctantly, Percy nodded. "She's never really let me go out and make friends aside from Luna, who's sweet, but a bit…" again, she let her thought trail off. "There's been you guys, but your family; that's different. Lee's been over a bunch with the twins, but they've always been too old to be interested in spending much time with me. Then there's Charlus." Ginny wrinkled her nose. "I liked him, once, but then I realized that there's nothing there for me. He just saw me as another stupid little fan girl and never as a person.

I thought that Hogwarts would be my chance to make friends, but now…" Ginny wasn't crying. She refused to cry about something like this, but she would be lying if she didn't dab at the corners of her eyes.

Percy awkwardly stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you can still make friends, you know?"

"Nobody in Slytherin wants to be friends with a poor blood traitor, Percy."

"We're more than that, Ginny."

"I know that, but you don't get how it is in Slytherin."

"Is it really that bad?"

Ginny had to actually think about that before answering. "Yes… no — I don't know."

In spite of himself, Percy smiled. "Use your words, Ginny." he joked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mister perfect O.W.L scores. Not everyone is the next coming of Merlin and a perfect scholar and all the rest."

"I'm being serious, Ginny."

She sighed. "I know, sorry, it's just… I really don't know. A lot of my yearmates are being complete prats! I can't go two minutes without getting sneered at, or having them look down their noses at me like I'm dirt. Most of them don't actually say or do anything, but they don't really need to. They make it pretty clear what they think of me."

"Most of them?"

Ginny hesitated. "There was… a bit of a mess in the dorms the first night. One of the girls kind of went off on me and the family and we kind of got into a row."

"What happened?" Percy asked, eyes narrowing.

"A couple of the other girls broke it up."

"Who were they?"

"Weitts and Slater, I think their names are."

At the mention of "Weitts" Ginny caught the widening of Percy's eyes, brief as it was. "Do you want a bit of advice, Ginny?"

"Sure, can't really get much worse, can it?"

"Make friends with those two."

Ginny actually laughed. "Percy, they're the daughters of two rich, powerful, pureblood families. They're going to want nothing to do with a filthy little blood traitor."

"Ginny, if that hat put you in stinking Slytherin, can you at least try and act like one and use a bit of cunning?" Ginny gaped back at her older brother, completely incredulous. "Come on, Ginny. If the two of them stepped in, they obviously don't think you're a 'filthy blood traitor.'"

"Oh, give it a rest, Percy. They obviously just wanted to sleep; said so themselves."

"Of course they'd say that, but they could have slept just as easily if they'd let it go on for another minute. It probably would've burnt itself out in the same amount of time it took them to resolve it, and probably would have been a lot easier and less risky on their end." With no small amount of surprise, Ginny realized that Percy was actually right. "If they stepped in, they're at least curious about you. If you want friends, Ginny, that's a good place to start."

Ginny felt her heart quicken as she imagined approaching Charlotte Weitts. The girl was honestly intimidating. The feeling she had given off when in Travers's face… that was not an enemy Ginny wanted to create. "I'll… try, Percy."

"That's the most a brother can ask for, right?"

Tentatively, Ginny smiled weakly back at him. "Speaking of brothers," she said in a rather small voice, "how are the others taking this? I… haven't heard from any of them. Except for Ron, obviously"

Percy sighed. "I don't think the twins know how to take it, to be honest."

Ginny scowled. "Probably think I'm a disgrace. A blite on the family name."

"No!" Percy said defiantly. "That's not it at all."

"What else is it then, Percy?"

Percy hesitated. "Well… you know the twins, don't you? They're natural defense is humour, and pranking, and the like. Obviously, they don't want to prank their little sister, so that one's out. And humour… well, say what you want about them, but they're not THAT insensitive." Percy paused, scratching his head in thought. "I don't think they are, anyways. They don't know how to approach you, Ginny. They don't know what to say. They're with you, I promise. Just… give them time."

Ginny had no idea whether or not she believed Percy but for now, she would take his word. After all, he had proven to be remarkably insightful thus far in their conversation and suddenly, Ginny was not so regretful that she had been dragged off here, after all. "What about Ron?" she asked a bit bitterly. "He made it pretty clear back there what he thinks of Slytherin, and me being in it."

Percy hesitated. "Ron's just… confused and immature. It's sort of like the twins; he doesn't know what to do or how to deal with it." Percy winced. "Problem is… well, he always idolized Charlie, didn't he? The big Quidditch hero and all that. And in the last few years, it's been the twins. I don't think any of them actually hate Slytherins, but they all trash you guys non stop because of Quidditch. Ron grew up with that, and his best friend is kind of hated by about half of your house."

"So he hates Slytherins because of all that?"

"He doesn't hate them." Percy said, but he didn't sound overly convinced. "He just… when a person doesn't know what to do or how to process something, they fall back on instincts. Ron's been conditioned to lash out at Slytherins for years. It's pathetic behaviour and I hope he gets detention for a week, but it's human nature. He'll come around, eventually. He'll realize soon enough that you're not going to become evil just because you're in Slytherin."

"If you say so, Percy."

"I'll work on him, Ginny, I promise."

There was a long, comfortable silence before Ginny stepped forward and surprised her older brother by wrapping her arms tightly around him. With a smile, Percy returned the gesture. "We make fun of you a lot, but I really do love you, Percy."

Percy laughed. "I know that, Ginny. I'm an easy target, I get it. There's no need to apologize."

"I do have one question though." Ginny mused as the two Weasleys split apart.

"What's that?"

"Since when have you been so good at reading people. Like… you're scary good at it. I joked about you taking my place earlier, but honestly, you probably could."

Percy seemed to have some kind of internal war that lasted about ten seconds. Then, his shoulders slumped as he let out a long, heavy sigh. "You're not the first Weasley to be told they'd do well in Slytherin, Ginny."

Ginny actually gaped at Percy. "You… you were told you'd do well in Slytherin?"

Percy smiled sadly back at his little sister. "Worse than that, Ginny. The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. It said I was more ambitious than I was brave, and more cunning than I was chivalrous even though I'd work well in either house." he frowned. "I'm… not proud to say that I was ashamed of that for a long time, until I grew up. When the hat offered me Slytherin, I told it there was no way. A Weasley could never be sorted into Slytherin. It would send me to Gryffindor, and that was the end of it." Percy looked down. "I feel like a bit of a prat now. Talking all that crap about Slytherins. Hell, if I'd have broken the tradition, you probably wouldn't be getting given all this hell now. And I'd be there, to watch out for you, and-"

"Shut up, Percy! Don't be thick! Now you're going to blame yourself for my problems? Honestly, that's exactly why you're a Gryffindor."

Percy smiled abashedly back at Ginny. "Sorry," he said a bit sheepishly, "it's just… I worry, you know? I'll try not to be overbearing or anything, Merlin knows how much you hate it when Mum does that, but I do worry."

"And I love you for that, Percy." Ginny said, stepping forward and hugging him one final time. "Both the worrying part, and the fact that you're not going to harass me like our dear old Mum." In spite of themselves, both Weasleys left the abandoned classroom a minute or so later in a fit of laughter and with a sudden rise in their overall mood.

* * *

**Author's Endnote: **

**A bit of a setup/transitional chapter, but it's sort of inevitable that you're going to get some of those at this point of each year, to be honest. There will be more action in the next chapter, and some rather important setup for events that will soon be taking place. **

**Oh, and magical theory. A lot of magical theory.**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 15th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Thank you to NerdDragonVoid from my Discord server for the additional edits on this chapter.**


	28. SS Ch 10: Bargains and Battles

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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**If you'd like to dive further into the AoC universe, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Instagram. **

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 10: Bargains and Battles.**

* * *

_**September 5, 1992**_

_**Malfoy Manor**_

_**9:14 PM**_

Lucius sat behind his desk in his study, going over a frankly absurd amount of financial paperwork as he waited for his associate to arrive. It had been a rather dull day as a whole and truthfully, whether the business was more complex or not, Lucius was very much looking forward to a break from the repetitive flow of normality that had made up the entirety of his day.

Right on cue, Lucius felt the wards alert him to his associate's arrival. Lucius had provided him with a Portkey tied into the wards, but they still alerted him nonetheless. As soon as this happened, Lucius found that his mundane notes could no longer hold his attention. So instead, he sat up and sighed, rubbing needily at a twinge in his neck before folding his hands in front of him, blanking his face and tilting up his chin, taking the most regal pose he could muster as he awaited his visitor.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door to his study, and Lucius called for the man to enter, pointing his serpentine cane at the door and causing it to unlock and allow the hulking figure through. Nothing of the figure could be discerned from a glance, aside from the fact that he was massive. He wore a long, black cloak with a large hood that easily obscured his large, square head.

In spite of this, Lucius knew exactly who had entered his study. In fact, he had worked with the man for many, many years. Actually, a more accurate statement might have been that the man had worked for _him_ for many, many years, but there had been that period of time more than a decade ago when the two of them had, in a sense, worked together.

"Crabbe." Malfoy greeted silkily as the vast arm of Vincent Crabbe Sr. reached up to lower his hood and reveal his face.

"Lucius." Crabbe responded in his deep, baritone voice.

"I trust you have news for me on our… matter of business?"

Crabbe nodded. "He says he needs help." the man responded gruffly.

Lucius frowned. "Help? I was unaware that the option of asking for help was on the table. My impression was that I made the job very clear. If he could do it, I would pay him."

"He says it isn't possible without it." Crabbe grunted. "Says she's too careful; keeps out of harm's way."

Malfoy tilted his head. "Which is precisely why we went to him in the first place. It was his job to formulate a plan of attack that would draw her out of her bubble."

"He has a plan." Crabbe informed him. "Got it all worked out and everything, but he needs some stuff he can't afford to make it work."

Lucius quirked an eyebrow, reluctantly intrigued. "Enlighten me, then."

In response, Crabbe reached a large, calloused hand into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew a rather crumpled, slightly stained piece of parchment. Lucius wrinkled his nose, gesturing for the man in front of him to place it on his desk rather than have him touch it directly. The mere idea of doing so was unbefitting. When the parchment had been placed delicately in front of him, Lucius leaned slightly forward in his chair and allowed his cold, grey eyes to roam over the parchment.

At first, he almost let out an exclamation at how outrageous the man's demands were. After all, was a fabulously generous commission not enough? But then, as he read more and more, Lucius's eyes narrowed. It was over the top, for certain, but at the same time, it was simplistic and efficient, if admittedly expensive. But then again, the matter had not been inexpensive for Lucius from the get-go, so what did more galleons matter in the grand scheme of things?

Lucius would need to alter the man's plan, but it had merit. At least, its general format had merit. The specifics could be altered, that was not difficult.

"Very well," Lucius acquiesced, "inform our… mutual acquaintance that I have accepted his request, but I will be making some alterations to his plan. His new instructions will find their way to him late next week, at the earliest. At worst, they will arrive early the week after. As for the… materials he asked for, they'll be kept in storage until another piece of my altered plan slides into place."

Crabbe widened his eyes. "You're actually gonna do it?"

"That is what I just said, is it not?" Lucius asked, causing Crabbe to fidget uncomfortably. "Money isn't everything, Crabbe." Malfoy said wisely, correctly guessing where the other man's mind had been venturing. "At least, not in the sense that it should never be spent. After all, what is the point of an illustrious name and expansive Gringotts vault if it isn't put to good use?"

* * *

_**September 6, 1992**_

_**A Room in The Dungeons of Hogwarts**_

_**7:58 PM**_

Harry neared the door to the abandoned room in the dungeons more slowly than usual. Per Grace's words prior to their first lesson in combat magic, there were wards on this room. Harry tried to feel something as he approached the door, but couldn't. Usually, he could feel some magic on objects. Last year, for instance, the Mirror of Erised had practically radiated magic. It was true that he could rarely, if ever, deduce what said magic was being used for, but he could usually feel it in some capacity. As he approached the room, however, Harry had to grudgingly admit that he felt nothing. He wasn't sure if this was standard for wards, or whether they had just been cast particularly well. When taking into account who had actually cast them last year, the latter was a distinct possibility.

Pushing all of these thoughts aside, Harry pushed open the door and nearly jumped when he caught a sudden flash of fire out of the corner of his eye. Just in time, Harry cast his eyes to the desk, where something resembling a piece of parchment was curling into ashes as Grace's eyes lifted to meet his own. For someone who had just seemingly been right next to something that had apparently spontaneously combusted, she seemed remarkably composed. In fact, she gave no hint of a visible reaction. "You're early." she observed, as if nothing at all had happened.

Harry just shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry, I didn't mean to be interrupting anything."

"You weren't interrupting anything." Grace assured. "Just a project, that's all."

"Right," Harry said, wondering what project could have resulted in the effect he had witnessed, "so tonight's Occlumency, right?"

"It is." Grace affirmed. "I think we'll stick with the first session each week as combat magic focused, with the second being taken up by work on your Occlumency."

"Are the days changing, then?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet." Grace answered. "Possibly, we'll have to see how my schedule shapes up as the year progresses. Yours as well, even though you're not as busy. If certain days work better than others, feel free to let me know. If you don't want to make a scene about it, you can always just send me a letter with one of the school owls."

Harry shrugged again. "I doubt I'll have to, but I'll keep it in mind. I keep fairly busy, but it's on my own schedule."

"I figured as much." Grace said with a nod. "Well, tonight should hopefully be the final night we work on your ability to sense blunt probes in your mind. The practice is really the same for more subtle Legilimency probes; it's just a mental memory thing you'll get with practice. But if I'm right, you're advanced enough to move onto the second level of Occlumency."

Harry's heart leapt. "Is that what we'll be doing tonight, then?"

"No," Grace said, and there was actually an apologetic tone to her voice, "I need to make sure I'm right, not just jump in head-first. I'll be running you through some tests tonight that will hopefully tell us one way or the other whether you're ready to advance. If all goes well, our next Occlumency lesson should be an introduction to stage two."

Harry nodded, setting his jaw. "Alright, so what do I need to do?"

* * *

_**A few hours later, in the Slytherin Dorms…**_

Harry placed silencing charms around his bed, along with a detection ward. If anybody approached too close, he would be mentally alerted at once. For now, these were the only wards Harry was actually capable of casting due to his limited knowledge of Ancient Runes, but the detection ward alone had been a very large step in the right direction. From this point forward, warding was something that he planned on putting a certain amount of emphasis on. At least, when his other pursuits allowed him the time to do so.

Once he was reasonably confident with his setup, Harry laid back on his four-poster bed and withdrew the book that he used as a means of communicating with Emily Riddle.

_So, my Occlumency tutor ran me through some tests tonight to determine whether I'm ready to advance to the second level of Occlumency._

There was a delay of about two minutes before Riddle's reply came.

_Interesting. What did she find to be the results?_

_She thinks I'm ready to progress. Her plan is for our next Occlumency lesson, which should be in about a week, to be an introduction to stage two._

_How very interesting. _Emily wrote back. _You are consistently able to detect her presence in your mind, then?_

_Yes, _Harry wrote in answer, _at least when she's using more blunt probes. According to her, I don't need to be able to detect more subtle breaches to advance. She said that's something I'll sort of just pick up in time, but it's no reason not to advance. According to her, it would only be an excuse to slow down my progress._

This didn't make a whole lot of sense to Harry, but he hadn't asked Grace to elaborate too far on the point. That was mainly because he knew he had Emily to ask questions. For as good as Grace very clearly was with the mind arts, the knowledge that Emily seemed to have at her disposal was incredible. Back in July, for instance, when updating Grace on his progress, she had not just been flabbergasted at how fast he had progressed, but baffled as to how on earth he had even gone about progressing that fast in the first place. That alone led Harry to believe that Emily understood the subject on a deeper level, but if it hadn't, their conversations in the nearly two months following certainly had done.

He trusted Grace on the matter, but he did want Emily's opinion. Plus, he had promised that she would have some say in his progression when he agreed to accept her assistance.

_I like your tutor. _Emily decided. _It is not a traditional method of teaching, per se, but one that I very much agree with. Most people would have you slave away while trying to gain a proficiency for detecting more subtle probes. The fact of the matter is, such practices at this stage would be trivial. _

_The reason you work on detecting not just irregularities, but intrusions in particular, is so that your mind gains a memory for what it feels like when another person projects their magic onto your mind to form a connection. No matter how subtle, the feeling of a connection does not change, it is simply more difficult to detect. Over time, your mind will slowly become more and more adept at sensing these connections. Having a mind that is not yet adept in the process is no limitation for learning stage two Occlumency. As a matter of fact, some of the skills learned in stage two will actually expedite the process of acquiring said memory._

Part of Harry wanted to inquire more about the next stage of Occlumency, but part of Harry also badly wanted to sleep. He decided for a compromise, choosing to ask a hopefully less tasking question. _How exactly do you know all of this? You can only really go through the process once, right? _

_Such an insightful question. I hypothesized about Occlumency and Legilimency for quite some time. As you can imagine, hypotheses in the latter are much easier to put to the test for reasons that I sincerely hope are self-explanatory. For the former, there are ways of testing. For instance, teaching is one way of study. Do not fret, you are not the first I have guided along in the art of Occlumency, and therefore not by any means a test subject. Arithmancy at a frankly absurd level can also be somewhat used to simulate the effects of certain manipulations of magic on one's mind, but this is a very complex topic that requires a certain understanding of not only the intricacies of magic, but some fundamental properties of the human brain._

And that was about when Harry was done with that conversation. Fascinating as it all was, he had hoped for a less tasking answer mentally. While he appreciated Emily's insightfulness, open nature and willingness to elaborate, he really was far too tired for any of it. Active Occlumency had that effect on him, which Grace said was normal because his brain was still adapting to the process.

Ugh! He was doing it again, going even further down the rabbit hole. He regretfully thought that perhaps, sleep may not come as fast as he would like it to.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Slytherin girls' dormitories…**_

Laine giggled at a joke Charlotte made just as the two of them stepped towards the entrance to their dormitory. As soon as they stepped inside, both of them had to dive to the side as a poorly aimed spell sailed in their general direction. Disoriented, the two girls climbed to their feet and did their best to judge the situation while trying not to end up on the wrong side of yet another of the off-target jinxes in the process.

When they got themselves into a good enough position as not to be cursed unintentionally, it was fairly obvious what exactly was going on.

Ginny Weasley and Evelyn Travers were duelling.

More specifically, at the moment, Ginny was dodging curses and trying not to end up on the wrong end of the other's wand. In the rare occasions where she did manage to find an opening and attempt to retaliate, Charlotte noticed that the spells she fired back were nearly harmless. Evelyn wasn't exactly packing a significant punch either, but she very clearly had a more diverse spell arsenal than Ginny. Given the notorious moral ambiguity of Evelyn's family, and the notorious moral compass of the Weasleys, this was not wholly surprising.

It was, however, rather annoying to enter the dorm late at night to this kind of a scuffle after making it quite clear that if one of these were to take place again, it should not do so within the confines of the dormitory.

"Flipendo."

Unseen by the other combatant, Charlotte sent Evelyn sailing backwards with a well-placed knockback jinx. Ginny whirled, confused and startled by the newcomer, but Charlotte had hit her with a disarming spell before she could do much more than turn around. As soon as Ginny's wand had left her hand, however, Charlotte's attention left her completely as she stormed forward, advancing quickly on the fallen form of Evelyn Travers, who was slowly making her way to her feet, looking to be shaken.

"Not another step." Charlotte said harshly, aiming her wand directly at the other Slytherin's face.

"What are you playing at, Weitts?"

"What I'm playing at is ending this, Travers. If you're going to be such a pest, do it in the common room. I'm done putting up with it in the dorms, and so are the rest of our classmates."

"Did you notice the fact that both of us were throwing spells, Weitts? Why do you blame it completely on me?"

Evelyn winced immediately after completing her sentence, as a well-aimed stinging hex from Charlotte caught her off guard. Using the distraction, Charlotte stepped close to Evelyn, grabbing the smaller girl by the collar of her robes and pulling her forward, using her other hand to hold her wand up against her throat.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Travers. I watched you start it the first time, so I don't see why this time would be any different. Weasley has pretty much minded her own business all week, so I doubt she's looking for a fight. She's just too Gryffindor not to end up in one."

"But she did start it, Weitts. You're being played-"

"Liar." Charlotte hissed, making hard eye contact with Evelyn and drawing a shiver from the other girl. "You were trying to get into her trunk; she told you to stop, and you told her to give you the password or you'd curse her, and all hell broke loose." Evelyn suddenly became too busy trying to pick her jaw up from the floor to retort, and Charlotte got in her final word.

"I'm done putting up with this, Travers. Do it in the common room or not at all. We don't want it in the dorms and the rest of the school shouldn't see it outside of the dungeons. If you think I'm picking sides now, wait until you try it again." With that, Charlotte shoved her backwards, sending her stumbling a few steps before tossing her wand back at her. When Travers stormed furiously out of the dorms, Charlotte rounded on Ginny, who took an involuntary step backwards.

"Relax, Weasley, I'm not going to curse you." Ginny did relax marginally, though she still remained rather tense. Charlotte had an aura about her when she was angry, as if heat was emanating off of her in waves. That, mixed with the way her eyes shone was a rather intimidating visage. "You should get a trunk with a lock on it, Weasley. The only reason she didn't manage to get into it was because she didn't even think about there not being a password. If nothing else, it will probably make the dorm more peaceful, which would be great for all of us."

Ginny flushed and looked down. "I couldn't get a trunk like that." she mumbled, clearly unwilling to state the obvious, but Charlotte got the hint.

Charlotte sighed. "I'll order you a trunk." she said, and Ginny looked up sharply, jaw agape.

"You-you'll what?"

"I'll order you a trunk." Charlotte repeated. "Yours makes you look like an easy target, which is one of the reasons Travers isn't leaving you alone for more than a few seconds each night. If you give her fewer reasons to think she can be a bother, she'll stop trying. Personally, I am a miserable person when I don't sleep, so I'll give up a few galleons to make sure that I do."

"You-you don't have to do that." Ginny protested.

"Well, obviously not." Charlotte said with a roll of her eyes. "But I just offered, didn't I? If it bothers you that much, just chalk it up to house unity and be done with it."

Ginny blinked. "House unity?"

Charlotte and Laine exchanged glances. It was only now that they realized exactly how clueless Ginny was about Slytherin House. Honestly, neither girl could really blame her. They both had prior knowledge of the house going in, as did the majority of people who were sorted into the Slytherin. Even those who didn't were usually heirs or heiresses of prestigious families who were taught to read situations better than Ginny was clearly capable of doing.

Following that same concept of house unity that was not explicitly stated but heavily implied was necessary within Slytherin House; it was going to fall to Charlotte and Laine to make sure that Ginny did not weaken or embarrass the house in public.

"Tell you what, Weasley." Charlotte said after coming to a sort of internal agreement with Laine. "The trunk should be in by next week. Meet me and Laine in the abandoned classroom nearest the Potions room next Monday at around 7:30. I'll give you the trunk and the three of us are going to have a talk."

Ginny looked rather apprehensive, so Laine stepped forward. "We're not going to ambush you, Weasley." she said, using a slightly more amicable tone than Charlotte. Charlotte was a very smooth and articulate speaker, especially for her age, but she had a sort of intimidating presence to her that Laine lacked, for the most part. Normally, that would be viewed as a disadvantage. But in a scenario like this, it was perhaps precisely what was needed. "There are just some things that you'll need to know in order for your life not to be hell in Slytherin. Charlotte and I learned all of this before even coming to Hogwarts, and since Black and the other girl seem to be ghosts and Travers a prat, it seems like it'll be up to Charlotte and I to explain things."

Ginny nodded, if a bit hesitantly, before edging questioningly towards her bed. When neither of the other two said anything more, Ginny moved towards it more certainly.

"Oh, and Weasley," Charlotte added, making sure to get the final word in, "learn some jinxes, hexes and maybe a few curses, will you? No offense, but that was kind of painful to watch." The last sight Charlotte and Laine saw that night was Ginny blushing as red as her hair, just as she retreated into bed for the night.

Laine sighed and leaned in towards Charlotte, speaking in a low voice. "What have you gotten us into?"

Charlotte just rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know, just doing my part for house unity and all that." she paused. "And she has some spunk." she said in an even lower voice. "If she can figure everything out, she'll probably come out of her shell. Honestly, I think she could be an interesting person to watch."

Laine looked almost incredulous. "Really? She seems scared of her own shadow, if you ask me."

Charlotte's return smile was all too knowing. "Trust me on this one, Laine. You might be the sweet talker out of the two of us, but I am very good at reading people."

* * *

_**September 7, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:11 AM**_

Harry, Blaise, Tracey and Daphne entered the Great Hall in a pack the first Monday after their return to Hogwarts. Charlotte and her friend Laine hadn't been in the common room when the four second year Slytherins had met up, so they had elected to go to breakfast alone. As soon as they entered the hall, Harry could feel a set of eyes. Glancing in their direction, he met the glance of Cassius Warrington, who subtly gestured with his head for the four of them to join himself, Calypso and the Carrows. With a slight nod of affirmation, Harry changed course, catching his three friends off guard in the process.

Luckily, they all followed without question, taking it all in stride as they took their seats among the older students. This did draw a few glances from the two or three first years seated at the table. Evidently, they were still trying to work out the convoluted hierarchy of Slytherin House. As Harry caught the platinum blonde hair of Draco Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, he remembered exactly when he had worked that component of the house system out. The morning after their arrival at Hogwarts last fall, when he had spotted Malfoy sitting with Macnair and his friends. It was crazy to think that in a way, that first morning had foreshadowed the rather intense conflict later in the year.

"Morning." Cassius greeted a bit sluggishly, sipping his cup of coffee rather needily.

"Not a morning person, are we?" Blaise observed, sounding amused by the fact.

"What was your first clue?" Cassius asked through a yawn.

"You seemed fine for matches last year." Tracey pointed out.

Calypso sniffed. "At the point you four saw him before matches, he had digested enough caffeine to fuel a small army."

"Oi!" Cassius protested. "You make it sound like I'm some sort of addict!"

Calypso pointedly sipped at her cup of tea, raising one, perfect brow in challenge. "When was the last morning you didn't have at least three cups of coffee, Cassius?"

Cassius opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again and closed it one more time. In the end, he just elected to return to sipping at his coffee and Calypso smiled sweetly, nodding in satisfaction before turning to the four younger students. "How was your first week?"

"Intriguing enough, I guess." Harry answered. "Defense and Herbology was interesting. I can't say I learned anything, but they were still fine."

"Bit hard to learn something when you've got the whole curriculum memorized." Tracey pointed out.

"The whole curriculum?" Hestia interjected, jumping on that bone like a rabid dog. Tracey winced, shooting a slightly apologetic look in Harry's direction.

Harry himself just sighed. "Don't worry about it, Tracey. It's hardly damning information, or anything."

"But do you actually have the whole curriculum memorized?" Flora followed up her sister's earlier question.

"For second year, yes." Harry admitted. "Well, not for History and Astronomy yet, but all of the other subjects."

Calypso now looked intensely interested, but not overly surprised, Harry noted. "Have you started any third year material, Harry?"

He shrugged. "I've started the reading, yeah. I haven't actually tried any of the magic, though, aside from the cheering charm."

"Not much in terms of new spells in third year for defense, honestly." Calypso said with a sigh. "It was mostly focused on magical creatures. There's the boggart banishing spell, Riddikulus, but not a whole lot other than that."

"That's disappointing." Blaise put in. Defense was probably his favourite subject. His best, too, along with Charms.

"Very." Hestia agreed, sounding rather bitter, if you asked Harry.

Just then, the seats nearest the group of eight were taken, and all of them glanced in their direction… and quickly all did double takes.

"Good morning." Charlotte greeted the group of older students brightly, smiling easily at all of them. Beside her, Laine did not look nearly as confident. Actually, Harry noticed that she looked rather nervous, though she admittedly did an admirable job of hiding it.

There was a moment when Harry's eyes met Charlotte's and he did his best to communicate the point that this was probably a very bad idea. He was unsure if she got the message, for she just kept smiling right back at him. He was sure she knew exactly what she was doing, but he wondered if she realized how seriously some members of Slytherin House took the whole "hierarchy thing" and its unwritten set of rules. For her sake, he really hoped she did.

Well, his sake as well, he supposed.

"Good morning." Calypso replied as she allowed her eyes to sweep over the table. Harry followed her example, noticing that most of the table was at least subtly glancing in the direction of the first years sitting with the older students. Those who were currently entering the hall may have been fooled and think that Charlotte and Laine had been invited, but those present at the table would have seen the way the two first years had just casually sauntered up to the older group without a care in the world. "How was your first week of classes?" Calypso asked the two of them, diverting Harry's attention off of the dilemma at hand as he refocused into the conversation.

This was a problem to deal with later, not at this time of the morning, with classes inevitably to follow.

The ten students spent the rest of the breakfast making idle conversation, ignoring the few stares that were sent their way as they did so. After some time, the start of the first class drew near, and all ten of them got to their feet, each year group intent on heading in a different direction. Charlotte and Laine were the first to break off, seeing as they had Potions down in the dungeons. Both the second and fifth years climbed the marble staircase before separating. When they did, however, Harry felt something warm brush quickly and softly up against his hand.

Startled, he glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing obviously out of place, but Calypso had fallen a bit behind the rest of her group, though she was quickly lengthening her stride to remedy that abnormality.

As Harry then suspected and would later find out, she had slipped him a note, doing so subtly enough that not even his three rather observant friends had noticed. When he read it during a break in their first period class, passing it off as a part of the class itself, his eyebrows had risen.

_Harry,_

_Meet me and Cassius tonight at 8:00. Same classroom we use for practice, which we'll be starting again Saturday night, by the way._

_See you then,_

_Calypso_

* * *

_**That night...**_

As Harry was about to leave the Slytherin common room to make sure he made it to his rather impromptu meeting with two of his older acquaintances, he spotted Charlotte sitting alone, reading a book at one of the tables near the outskirts of the room. Making a split-second decision, Harry changed course, making his way over towards her instead. She must have sensed him coming, for before he could get to her, he found her bluish-silver eyes fixated curiously upon him.

Ignoring her intense stare, Harry slid into the chair across from her and removed his wand. Her eyes tracked it, but not warily. Harry envied people for not having the strong impulse to flinch, flee or fight whenever a weapon was drawn near them. But of course, her reaction was completely on point for that moment in time, for obviously, Harry had no intention of cursing Charlotte.

Instead, he gave his wand a casual flick and cast a spell he had not used in some time.

"Muffliato."

Harry could feel the magic, almost oppressive in nature, flow from his wand and settle heavily in the air around them. Suddenly, the noise coming from the rest of the room seemed to fade into the background. It was there, but far less noticeable. Harry also knew that the rest of the room would be able to hear nothing of their conversation, not unless they edged rather close to them. Charlotte very obviously made to kickstart the conversation, but Harry held up a hand, forestalling her.

Glancing around to make sure they weren't being watched, Harry quickly traced his wand through the air in tight, precise motions as he drew a specific set of runes. He had spent quite a lot of time practicing this pattern at Weitts Manor. After all, after being ambushed last year, Harry felt as if a mild sense of paranoia on his part was not completely unwarranted. A minute or so later, he could feel the ward take effect. Now, if anyone came within range of penetrating the boundaries of the Muffliato spell, he would be alerted by the ward around them. Charlotte was looking at him with unmasked curiosity now as he reholstered his wand.

"Just making sure we won't be overheard." He said in place of an answer.

Charlotte just raised an eyebrow. "What was that first spell?" she asked him. "I've never heard that incantation before."

"I would be very surprised if you had." Harry told her. After the hint Voldemort had given him last year while disguised as Hurst about the spell not being one he should let people know that he was aware of, Harry had attempted to research it. To his surprise, his attempts had yielded nothing.

He couldn't even find mention of the spell anywhere, let alone why it would be so unfortunate if "certain individuals" found out he was using it. That fact had made it all the more surprising when Charlus had known of it last year. The bit about Harry's twin learning the spell from James, who had apparently learned of it from Lily before making it somewhat of a standard for Aurors was certainly interesting, but not exactly helpful for him in terms of furthering his understanding. Perhaps it would be something to ask Emily about at some point? Perhaps she might know something about it.

"That's very helpful." Charlotte retorted sarcastically.

"Sorry," Harry said genuinely, "I was lost in thought. From what I can tell, it's a ridiculously powerful privacy spell. It literally makes it impossible for anybody to eavesdrop into our conversation from nearby. I'm not even sure if there is any way to breach it at all."

Charlotte definitely looked interested now. "Teach me."

Harry's lips twitched at the demanding tone of her voice. "Not now."

Charlotte actually attempted to pout. The look didn't suit her, but Harry did find it intensely amusing.

When he said nothing further, Charlotte just crossed her arms. "Fine, what about the second spell?"

"It wasn't really a spell, depending on how you look at it. It's a sort of detection ward. It'll warn me if anybody gets within range of the first spell. Basically, this conversation is literally impossible for anybody to eavesdrop on." he hesitated. "Unless they're some sort of prodigy, maybe, but we used the spell all of last year and nobody ever eavesdropped on us. And that was before I even knew how to cast the ward."

"Interesting," Charlotte mused, "well, since I know you weren't planning on coming over here and that you meant to leave the room altogether, I'm assuming you want something?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You really have to stop legilimizing people."

Charlotte shrugged. "I'm working on it. Besides, it's not my problem if you can't even block a probe that has no intent behind it."

"I'm working on it." Harry said with another twitch of his lips, happily turning Charlotte's own words against her.

"Well," she bit back with a sigh, "until you figure that out, you can hardly be upset with me for gleaning your thoughts, can you?"

"You don't exactly sound like it was an accident this time."

Charlotte shrugged. "I heard footsteps and got curious."

"That… actually sounds extremely useful." Harry admitted.

"It's annoying sometimes right now, but it has its uses, yes." Charlotte peered at him expectantly. "Well, I'm assuming you still need to be somewhere, so what was it you wanted, exactly?"

Right, she had a point. He had been told to show up at a specific time. "You do realize what you're doing, don't you?"

Charlotte blinked. "Um… trying to be a decent friend by not letting you get sidetracked?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No… I mean, yes, but no." Charlotte was clearly resisting a smirk with some difficulty. "I mean with your antics at mealtimes."

Realization dawned in Charlotte's eyes. "Oh, is that what this is about, really?"

"Charlotte, I'm serious. You'd be surprised how stuck up some people are about things like that."

"No, I really wouldn't be." she answered. "Harry, you've been in my household. Can you honestly tell me that you think I haven't noticed exactly the kind of reactions it's been getting? And that's just ignoring the fact that I can — jeez, I don't know — find out what people are actually thinking."

"That doesn't make it any better." Harry retorted. "You might realize all that, but I don't think you understand how some people might react. They'll take it as a challenge, Charlotte. It happened to me last year. Before I knew what was happening, I was up against a fourth year and a sixth year."

"Oh, so that's how the whole dragon thing happened, then?" Charlotte asked, smirking in satisfaction as Harry's mask slipped, surprise briefly showing on his face. "Oh, come on," Charlotte said, actually sounding exasperated, "give me some credit, will you? Did you really think I wouldn't be able to make that connection?"

"You're really not making this easy, are you?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"It's not my fault if you let interesting information slip."

"Yes, Charlotte, that is a part of how the dragon incident happened. There is a lot more to it than that, but it's a part of it. If you haven't figured this out yet, that isn't exactly a good thing. I know I've been vague about that whole incident, but since you're so interested, let me spell it out for you.

"I got jumped by a fourth year and a sixth year. They bound me, dragged me into a room and told me exactly how they were going to frame me for dragon smuggling, get me expelled from Hogwarts, exiled from the Potter family, and sent straight to Azkaban." Charlotte's eyes actually widened at that, if only for a second. "Oh, and the sixth year had fun hitting me with some kind of torture curse while he was at it. Honestly, their plan was a good one. If everything hadn't lined up perfectly, there's no way I would have been able to turn it on them. Even the way it turned out, it all could have gone terribly wrong if they had just been a little bit more careful."

It was true, after all. If Macnair or Selwyn had simply opened the decoy crate… well, Harry wasn't exactly sure what would have happened, but he was fairly confident that it would not have been pleasant.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. "You shouldn't have let them get off so easily." she said darkly. "Their families having to pay fines isn't enough for that kind of attack."

"I was more focused on self-preservation, Charlotte. Which is exactly what I'm trying to get across to you. There are people in this house that will take something small and blow it up like that. They'll look for an opportunity and when it comes, they will try and ruin you. Your sister won't be able to jump in and help you, either. The older years are supposed to stay out of younger year drama, for the most part."

"Who says I need my sister's help?"

"If some of the more talented upper years decide you're a target, you probably would."

"You're entitled to that opinion, Harry."

"Charlotte-"

"Harry, I get it, ok. If it means so much to you, I'll at least watch my back, alright? I have very specific reasons for doing what I'm doing, and I'm not going to stop, at least not yet. I know exactly what I'm doing. But… I'll try and be a little bit more careful, okay?"

Harry sighed; it was likely the best he was going to get, and he really did have to be off to his meeting. "Just keep it all in mind." were his last words before he stood and exited the common room, now walking at a much faster pace than he had planned in order to be on time to meet his two older friends.

* * *

Some minutes later, Harry arrived at the room in question, cursing internally at the fact that he was technically two minutes late for the meeting. Thinking back to his discussion with Grace about the wards on their room in the dungeons from the previous week, Harry tried to feel the wards on this room, but he couldn't. Unlike the other set of wards, Harry had definitely been cued into these ones. It had actually taken a drop of blood from his finger to do so. That had intrigued Harry quite a bit at the time, but he had not asked questions on the topic.

"Sorry I'm late." he said as he pushed his way through the door, noticing that Cassius and Calypso were both sitting at the room's lone table, a fairly long one set in its corner. "I got a bit held up on my way out of the common room."

"Eh, no worries." Cassius dismissed. "It's not exactly like we're on a strict schedule or anything." Harry glanced curiously between the two of them as he took a seat directly across from Calypso. Cassius sat on her left, Harry's right. He tried his best to glean what this whole thing may have been about, but try as he might, he could deduce nothing.

"Since you don't seem like you're going to ask," Calypso started, "I guess we should probably get to the point and explain what this is all about."

"That would probably be a good start." Harry agreed.

Calypso glanced to Cassius, who leaned forward with an obvious gleam in his dark eyes. "Do you remember last week? The morning the two of us were out flying?"

Harry did not immediately react, not seeing where on earth this conversation was going. "Yes," he answered carefully, "what about it?"

"Do you remember the last thing I said to you after we had first landed?"

Of course Harry remembered, but he wasn't going to point that out to Cassius. "Trust me, Harry," he quoted in a rather poor rendition of Cassius's voice, which was quite a bit deeper than his own, "I am going to convince you to join."

There was a long pause as Harry waited for Cassius to continue the conversation. Then, his eyes widened as he looked from Cassius to Calypso, both of whom were looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to put the dots together. "You're kidding, right?" Harry asked incredulously. "This is about Quidditch?" When Cassius nodded, Harry rounded on Calypso, confused. "If this is about Quidditch, then what are you doing here? You never stop going in on Cassius for playing it."

"That's because he has nothing to gain from playing it." she said, frowning. "With no offense meant to Cassius, he's a very good chaser, but not an amazing one. He doesn't draw envy or inspire those around him. He definitely adds to the team, but he doesn't really stand out. He just puts in hours upon hours of practice to be part of a solid Quidditch team." Her dark blue eyes found Harry's and he suddenly realized that somehow, someway, Cassius had talked her into helping him in his crusade. "You're different though, Harry. There is actually a reason for you to play Quidditch."

"Somebody pull the other one." Harry muttered. "Calypso Rosier is trying to convince me to try out for the Quidditch team."

"I'm serious, Harry." Calypso chided, narrowing her eyes.

"I know," he said, hardly able to believe the fact, "which honestly just makes this whole thing even crazier. I expected this from you," Harry told Cassius, "the look in your eyes — I knew there was no chance you were going to let this drop. But Calypso? How'd you manage to talk her into this? What did you blackmail her with? It must have been good."

"Why don't you want to play Quidditch?" Calypso asked clinically. "You're not exactly in the majority opinion when it comes to boys in Slytherin."

"It takes up too much time without the reward." Harry answered honestly. "The same reason you don't like Cassius playing, really. I have goals, goals that I can only achieve by putting in the time. Quidditch takes away from those goals because of the time I would lose."

"And what are those goals, exactly?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "That's a very personal question, Calypso."

"Fine, don't tell me then. That's your decision, I'm only trying to be helpful and explain why Quidditch probably helps your goals in ways that you haven't even considered." she paused. "I can probably still do that, actually." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, clearly thinking hard. "Alright," she decided, "I'm going to explain to you exactly how playing Quidditch would help you and then, if you can honestly tell me that none of those things it will help you with or feed into will aid you in your goals in any way, shape or form, we'll let this whole thing drop and pretend it never even happened."

Cassius suddenly looked rather anxious, but Calypso shot him a sideways glance from the corner of her eye and he leaned back in his seat, obviously taking the hint that this was her show.

Skeptically, Harry nodded. "Take it away then, I guess."

"First, let's talk about last year, when you were falsely accused of dragon smuggling." Immediately, Harry's guard went up, but to his surprise and mild relief, Calypso made no attempt to press him. "I'll be honest with you, I have no idea what happened, exactly. But, I know it was a lot more than false accusations. I know Macnair and Selwyn, and they wouldn't just accuse you. If I had to guess, you were set up, possibly even attacked and somehow managed to spin the story, probably because Macnair's an idiot and messed up in his role. Either way, the point is that you were a target of older students." she raised an eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"

Hesitantly, Harry shook his head.

"I didn't think so." Calypso said with some satisfaction. "Now, this year, what's to say something similar won't happen? Macnair is probably too thick-headed to back off, and if Selwyn's anything like the rest of his family, trust me when I say he is a vengeful son of a bitch." Harry had to resist a reaction of surprise. He had never heard Calypso curse at all until now. "But," she continued, "if you play Quidditch, I can guarantee that Macnair won't be going out of his way to attack you, and the chances of Selwyn, or any older student doing so would go down greatly."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And why is that, exactly?"

"Two reasons," Cassius spoke up, "one, we're brothers. We might cross paths if politics forces us to or whatever, but when push comes to shove, the team all has each other's backs. One, because it's obviously best for the team if all of us are healthy and ready to go. And two, because busting your ass with six other guys has a way of making you way closer than you'd ever thought you'd be."

"And secondly," Calypso slid in promptly, "because being on the Quidditch team is a prestigious position that is deemed important to the house. Slytherin is the house of ambition. Naturally, that means it's full of very competitive people. That means that whether we care about Quidditch or not, we want to win. Because of that, and because of the prestige of the team, all team members are, for the most part, afforded a sort of natural protection. I can't remember anybody ever going out of their way to make a Quidditch player's life hell unless the player themself started it."

"And if they did," Cassius put in, "the rest of us would make that bastard's life hell."

Loathe as he may be to admit it, Harry saw exactly how advantageous that could be. Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal for an older student, but for a second year with older enemies more dangerous than themself…

"Ok," Harry said grudgingly, "I can… see why that would be very useful in my situation. I'm still not sure it makes up for the amount of time I'd be putting in, though."

"Luckily, it's not the only benefit." Calypso informed him, leaning forward slightly. It was clear that whatever she was about to say next, it was the real reason why she was here in the first place. "As I've said already, the Quidditch team is a prestigious thing in our house. It will basically boost your house standing immediately, no matter how you perform. And on a Quidditch team, by far the most prestigious position is the seeker. They're the one with all the power."

"That would be you." Cassius chimed in. "Your maneuverability is ridiculous. Like… honestly, I don't think there is a single student at Hogwarts who could outfly you around a course if you were on the same broom and you've never even trained." he hesitated. "Except maybe your brother, but he's kind of a phenom." It sounded as if that admission was quite painful for Cassius to make. Honestly, Harry didn't like it much either, at the moment.

Actually… challenging as it might be, the potential to beat his brother was a rather tantalizing prospect. Not just beat him, but to do it in front of the entire school. It would certainly be a way to outshine him, and what did Harry have to lose? The entire school would be sure of his defeat before the match so much as started. If he lost, he would simply be fulfilling their expectations. But if he won…

"Which is perfect," Calypso said, "because it ties back into what I said about Cassius. He's a good player, but he doesn't stand out. The seeker will always stand out. And if the seeker is a standout seeker, they'll prosper not just on the pitch, but off of it."

"It's no coincidence that seekers are by far the most popular and highest paid position in professional Quidditch." Cassius pointed out. "And Harry, I know you think I'm barmy for it, but I honestly think you'd be brilliant. I know you obviously don't believe it yet, but trust me! I'm not as smart or as talented as Calypso, or even Hestia or Flora, but I know my Quidditch."

"And if I was a standout seeker," Harry filled in, "it would greatly help my standing in the house. I'd be the center of attention, the golden boy on a broom and all the rest. The house would not only avoid conflict with me, but some may even try to win my favour." Harry peered curiously at Calypso. "That sounds great and everything, and don't take this the wrong way, but what's your angle, exactly?"

"Is it so hard to believe that I just want the best for you?"

"I'm sure you do," Harry said dryly, "but I'm also sure that's a half-truth. It might be what's best for me, but you have an angle, and I want to hear it."

Calypso smiled. "I like that about you, Harry. You don't miss much, even at your age. Of course I have an angle. I'm your friend, so obviously I want the best for you, but by being your friend, I also benefit from your success. So do Greengrass, Davis and Zabini. So do Hestia and Flora. So do Weitts and Slater. But focusing on us specifically — me, Cassius, Hestia and Flora. Next year, we'll be sixth years and the elder Weitts will be gone. The house is going to be in a state of flux. It will be chaos, an all-out scramble to take the top spot."

"And you're going after it." Harry said, nodding along. Suddenly, it all made sense. "You have the magical ability to back your claim, easily. Between your talent and influence, you can probably gain the favour of a lot of upper years. Cassius can pull from some of the crowd that are Quidditch fanatics in supporting you. But if you had me, the best student in my year, an Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House, and a star Quidditch seeker, I could draw from pretty much every group in the younger years. I could win favour with them, and if I supported you outright, you'd have a wave of support behind you to back up your own ability."

Calypso's smile was so bright, it was practically blinding.

"Bingo!" Cassius said with narrowed eyes.

"And in the same way that you'd benefit from me," Harry continued, "I'd benefit from you. I'd have the 'Slytherin Queen' on my side, which would practically be priceless while at school. Plus, when you guys leave, I would be in fifth year and in a perfect position to take over. By being tied to you, it would make that takeover much, much easier." Harry had not thought it was possible for Calypso to smile any wider, but he found himself proven wrong. Harry sighed. "I can't believe I'm probably about to agree to this, but there's one more issue that I can see."

"Which is?"

"I don't have a broom. Granted, my father might buy me one. If he's anything like my brother, he's probably a Quidditch fanatic. I'm sure he'd love to see his sons on the pitch together, even though the colour of my robes might make him nauseous." Harry was also fairly sure that James was desperate to gain favour with him, but he did not voice that thought aloud. "But even if that's true," he said, "I highly doubt he could get me a broom by…" he paused, "when are tryouts again?"

"Saturday." Cassius answered. "They were supposed to be yesterday, but Flint stepping down as captain sort of threw everything off."

"Right," Harry said, "I definitely don't think my father could get me a broom in time for Saturday."

"Luckily for you," Calypso said easily, "I'm certain my father could get you a broom by Saturday. Not a new broom, granted, but a lightly used one that would be more than good enough to get you through tryouts." Harry sighed, looking for any last thing to cling onto, but he saw nothing.

"Fine," Calypso huffed, "I'll sweeten the deal. We'll help you with any spell work you need help with when we practice on Saturdays since you're going to lose so much time. And I'll owe you one favour in the future. Any favour that doesn't harm me, my friends, or my family in any way, shape or form."

Harry closed his eyes before slowly, very slowly, he reopened them and met Calypso's eyes. "Fine," he sighed, "you win."

* * *

_**September 11, 1992**_

_**A Room In The Dungeons**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Harry sat eagerly across from Grace as he awaited the beginning of his first Occlumency lesson that would focus on the art's second level. Technically, it was supposed to be combat magic tonight, but Harry had decided he was too eager to wait until Sunday for his new training in the mind arts. "Obviously," Grace began, "you're aware that each tier of Occlumency has a specific main focus?" Harry nodded. "Do you have any idea what the focus is for level two?"

"It plays off of level one." Harry said, having read a bit ahead in his own Occlumency text. "Where level one focuses on detecting irregularities in your mind, level two focuses on actually getting rid of them."

"A bit rough, but mostly accurate. The second level of Active Occlumency focuses on establishing 'Occlumency shields'. It not only teaches you how to defend your mind against Legilimency attacks, but once you do it enough, the mental memory that I've droned on and on about will kick in.

"The term 'Occlumency shields' is actually very misleading. There is no such thing as an Occlumency shield. There's no barrier, mental or physical that stops a Legilimency probe. Even if there was, it would be useless, since Legilimency forms a connection with another person's mind directly. There's no medium, no middle ground where shields could be built. The way to defend against Legilimency is actually very simple. Well, the concept is simple, at least. Actually putting it into practice is a bit more complicated."

"What do you have to do, exactly?"

"Clear your mind." Grace said simply. "You need to focus on whatever it is that you use to clear your mind."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That seems… too easy."

"Yes, it does. Here are the problems. Firstly, you have to be able to do it instantly. Any hesitation, and you've lost. If you don't clear your mind right away, the Legilimens will have something to latch onto. Once they have an image, an idea, or an emotion, you're in trouble. Think of your mind as an extremely complicated web. By clearing your mind, you're making it nearly impossible for them to even see the web, let alone do anything with it. But if your mind isn't clear, there are a countless number of strands spreading out from the web. These are emotions, thoughts, memories, anything of the sort. Once a Legilimens has a hold of one of them, they can twist it, manipulate it, or follow it to more strands and do the same with them."

"So if I don't clear my mind right away, they'll latch onto a strand, which will make it much, much harder for me to force them out?"

"Exactly."

"Lovely." Harry said dryly; he could clear his mind very quickly, but instantly was a stretch — a very large stretch, at the moment.

"It's a process, Harry." Grace said in a way far more comforting than how she usually spoke. "This is going to seem extremely daunting right now, but I promise, you're going to get it. You have way too much natural talent not to."

"I'm assuming there are other things that makes this even more difficult, isn't there?"

Grace's lips twitched. "How perceptive of you." she said. "Yes, there is. Once a connection is formed by a Legilimens, they can obviously do everything I just mentioned, but they can also send things through the link if they're practiced enough. Thoughts, emotions, memories, ideas… the possibilities are endless. An extremely skilled Legilimens can be terrifying because of this, since there is honestly no telling what they could do by manipulating the ability. But it does take a talented Legilimens to do it. It's not something anybody can just do."

"That's… a small comfort, I guess."

"On a lesser scale, this ability is still very useful. Can you guess why?"

Harry thought for a moment before answering. "The Legilimens could try to disrupt your thoughts by feeding images. Which would be even more effective if they did glean something, since they might know, or at least have an idea of what might be effective."

"Pretty much exactly that, yes. The ability to project images is a tricky one to pick up on, but it's definitely not as hard as some of the manipulations of said ability."

Harry sighed. "When you said this was going to be a process, you were not kidding."

Grace actually laughed at that comment. Soft as it was, it was a rarity, and saying that would be quite a profound understatement. "No, I wasn't." She slipped her wand from her sleeve. "Are you ready to start?"

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office…**_

Charlus stared open-mouthed at Dumbledore, who sat calmly across from him and observed his young charge with what appeared to be intense amusement. "You want me to forgive Harry, again?"

"I shall tell you the same thing that I told you almost a year ago to the day, Charlus. In my most esteemed opinion, there is nothing at all that needs forgiving."

"But… he was going to betray us! He was going to join Voldemort!"

"I think it's fairly obvious that this is untrue, Charlus. If that statement was true, Harry would have taken Voldemort's offer right there and then. You cannot say he was going to do something when, in the very next moment, he did the exact opposite of the thing you are accusing him of."

"But… he said it! He said he wanted to! Wanted to be better than me and dad, wanted to stand alone."

"Is that ambition such a bad thing, Charlus?" Dumbledore asked. "A wise man in a muggle novel once said that you never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… until you climb into their skin and walk around in it. Imagery aside, I consider that quote to be most apt in your current situation. Please, try and see things from Harry's perspective. He was left at the home of his aunt and uncle at a year old and ignored for ten years." Dumbledore winced. "Of course, this is mostly a mistake on my part, and a drastic one that may never be forgiven, but it is the fact of the matter whether I like to admit it or not."

"But it was Dad who made the choice, wasn't it?"

"In a sense, yes." Dumbledore admitted. "But it was I who helped convince him that specific home would be suitable." Dumbledore paused. "I do not know how much of Harry's living situation you were made privy to, Charlus, but it was… far worse than I would ever have thought."

"Did… did they ever hurt him, Professor? I asked him that question last year, and he didn't answer me."

"That fact does not surprise me." Dumbledore said. Then, after a moment, he sighed. "Yes, Charlus, they hurt him. Fairly often and sometimes quite badly, in fact." Charlus reared back as if struck and Dumbledore gave him a moment to compose himself before he continued.

"Harry was left at the mercy of his aunt and uncle and abandoned by the magical world. They neglected him, Charlus. He never got the love and attention that you were pampered with by your father and godfather, to say nothing of your adoring public. And then there is you.

"When Harry finally returned to the world in which he belonged, he finds out that his brother is famous. Remarkably famous, in fact. Harry has never stood alone in all of his life. He was cast into an oppressive shadow by his muggle relatives for ten years. And then, when he returned to the magical world, he was cast into the shadow of his family name and his brother." Dumbledore fixed Charlus, who was now wide-eyed and stunned at this perspective, with a hard stare. "When has Harry got any attention when it is not connected to you or the Potter family?"

"At the gala." Charlus answered at once. "They were all fawning over him because of his grades."

"And what happened when he finally got that attention?"

Charlus paused. "He made the paper?"

"You both made the paper. You butted into the picture and stole his spotlight. While it was true you were bested, the _Prophet_ was talking about your competition against him, not so much his own accomplishments. In the article in question, I believe they even referred to you as the more well-known of the Potter twins." Charlus actually winced at that.

"My point, Charlus," Dumbledore said, "is that Harry is well within his right to earn attention. He is merely a boy, just as you are, but a boy who is only now learning the intricacies of the magical world. He did not grow up learning of the terrors that Lady Voldemort inflicted upon these isles. As Professor Hurst, Lady Voldemort was the first adult figure to ever show Harry true affection of any kind. I'm sure the offer to join her in her crusades and stand out above all others was immensely appealing to him. Can you not see why that would have been a tantalizing image for one in Harry's position?"

And just like that, Charlus knew he had lost the argument. As much as he wished otherwise, he could see exactly why such an offer would be so tempting to Harry. And now, he came to a rather jarring revelation.

He had spent the last three months being an undeniable git — again.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Originally, I had planned for the Quidditch tryouts to be in this chapter. As you may be able to guess, this one turned out to be longer than I had expected. The try out scene itself is also about 5k words, so I pushed it back to the first scene of next week's chapter. That one will also be quite long, so I hope you enjoy these longer chapters. At this rate, taking the large number of pre-written chapters into account as well, It seems to be my new norm for year 2. **

**As I've said in the past, my mind magic system is based off of the one in PoS, though as those of you who have read both stories know, I have already made some significant changes. For instance, the actual theory on how Legilimency and Occlumency work. Also, in PoS, Occlumency shields are formed over time. In AoC, as Grace put it, there is no such thing as Occlumency shields, and that term is extremely misleading. Honestly, that trope never made sense to me, so I am happy to have subverted it.**

**Finally, bonus points to anybody who knows which muggle novel Dumbledore referenced, and which character he is speaking about. If you got the reference, let me know in the reviews. **

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 22nd, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST**

**Thank you this week to my lovely Discord editors Sesc and Haphne Initiate Son of Athena for the additional corrections on this chapter.**


	29. SS Ch 11: Consequences of Confrontations

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you'd like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Instagram. **

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**

**Chapter 11: Consequences of Confrontations**

* * *

_**September 12, 1992**_

_**The Quidditch Pitch**_

_**3:26 PM**_

Harry stood among a large crowd of students who would be trying out for the seeker position this year. Part of him was surprised by the vast numbers, seeing as Slytherin House greatly prided itself on self-preservation, and the seeker was by far the riskiest position in the game. On the other hand, Harry was entirely unsurprised. As Calypso had so elegantly explained, Slytherin House was one founded on ambition, and the position of seeker was by far the most prestigious.

Most of the players standing around Harry were ones he doubted would serve as much of a challenge, even with his limited experience. He was pretty sure that most of them had little to no flying ability. If Harry was even half as talented as Cassius had claimed, he would embarrass the majority without issue.

There were a few opponents who were intriguing. Among the many bodies around Harry, David Makehey stood stone still and ready. He had been the replacement seeker last year after Higgs had met his horrific end at the jaws of the three-headed monstrosity used to guard the Philosopher's Stone. His showing in the following matches hadn't exactly been exceptional, but he had not embarrassed himself, by any means. Harry thought that if nothing else, he had obviously been chosen for the role for a reason. Clearly, he had some talent for the position. Evidently, it was simply less than that of the starting seekers for each of the other three houses.

To Harry's intense amusement, Andrew Macnair was one of the students gathered for seeker tryouts. Harry had no idea as to his ability on a broom, but Macnair did not exactly have what Cassius called a "seeker's build". Harry sincerely hoped he embarrassed Macnair, simply to remind the bastard how terribly everything had blown up in his face the previous year.

The most interesting, by far, was Draco Malfoy. He stood directly beside Harry and there was an unmistakable air of tension between the two of them. Neither of them had spoken to the other since Malfoy's failed attempt at ruining Harry near the end of their first year at Hogwarts.

Well, that had been the case up until today, at least.

* * *

_**Twenty-five minutes earlier, in the Slytherin changing rooms…**_

All of the prospective hopefuls for Slytherin's house team had been instructed to meet in the changing rooms at 3:00 PM sharp. Impressively, at least in Harry's estimation, it appeared as if everyone had actually shown up on time. Just as the tension in the room grew hard to bear as all of the students set to try out continued to size themselves up against their competition, the door to the changing rooms banged open, and in strode the Slytherin Quidditch team, led by its new captain, Miles Bletchley.

There had been some surprise when Bletchley was announced as captain. Cassius was older than him, as were both of the beaters, Derrick and Bole. But it had come down to a vote among the Slytherin players from the previous year, so nobody could exactly complain in regards to the appointment.

To Bletchley's credit, he ignored everyone's stares as he took to the center of the floor and gave a fairly rousing speech about the prospects of the team and the honour it was to join it. Afterwards, he laid out exactly how this tryout would be held.

Each position would be tested one after another. They would start with beaters, followed by keepers, then seekers and finally, the chasers. At this, Harry could have groaned aloud. He was irrationally nervous about this whole thing, despite the rather stellar Cleansweep 10 in his hands. It wasn't a Nimbus 2000, but it was probably the next best thing. Of course, the Nimbus 2001 was apparently out this year, according to Cassius, but none gathered in the room seemed to be clutching one of those.

Harry, Calypso and Cassius had discussed why Harry should get onto the Slytherin team in great detail. One thing that had never come up was what would happen if he didn't make the team at all. Perhaps Cassius was just that confident in Harry's ability, but he unfortunately could not say the same of himself. Truthfully, he wasn't sure why he was so nervous about this in the first place, but having to wait until very near the end of tryouts for his resolution was going to make it just that much worse. If that wasn't bad enough, apparently, if you were eliminated from one position, you could opt to try out for a different one. This would inevitably mean that the field of potential seekers would be excessively vast.

Finally, Bletchley finished his speech and told everybody to change into whatever they would be training in. Cassius had actually lent Harry a pair of training robes after Calypso had resized them to fit. In the stall next to Harry, Draco Malfoy pulled on his own set of robes, shooting not-so-covert glances in the Potter Heir's general direction every few seconds.

"Something wrong, Malfoy?" Harry asked coolly, speaking to the blonde for the first time since the fiasco last May.

Though the cubicle separated the two of them, Harry could still practically see the sneer on Malfoy's face. "Just worried for you, Potter, that's all." Malfoy hissed in barely more than a whisper.

Harry would have crooked a brow, but Draco would have been unable to see it. "Just worry about yourself, Malfoy. It's you who's going to need the worry, not me."

Malfoy scoffed. "Come off it, Potter. You never even touched a broom until last year. You've been in this world for barely that long. You're barely even a wizard. I've been playing Quidditch five times longer than you've known about magic."

Harry felt his pulse quicken at the reminder, but he ignored it. "Be careful, Malfoy." Harry warned silkily. "The last time you talked this big of a game, both of us know exactly what happened."

Malfoy flushed, though Harry could not tell. "This time, Potter, you won't be able to do anything sneaky to get lucky! This time, it's out in the open, man against man, wizard against wizard!"

"Does the hypocrisy leave an aftertaste?" Harry asked, borrowing one of his favourite quips frequently used by Daphne. "I'll remind you, Malfoy, that it was you who had to ambush me with the help of older students. You have no bodyguards in the air, Malfoy. No gorillas, no older students. It's just you and your talent against me and mine. May the best wizard win."

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

Harry chanced a glance to his left. Malfoy was looking at the ground, meeting the eyes of nobody as he took deep, steadying breaths. Either he really was as good as he claimed and this was some form of advanced preparation, or he was absolutely bricking it right about now. Personally, Harry suspected the latter.

As for himself, he was certainly nervous. Unlike Malfoy, he was utilizing Occlumency to the best of his abilities. He couldn't suppress the nerves, but by keeping a clear mind, it prevented those nervous thoughts from popping up in the first place. He thought it was a rather more effective way of staying calm and focused. It also had the added benefit of not instantly alerting everybody around as to how you were feeling.

While in this state, Harry also completely ignored Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Laine, Charlotte, Calypso and the Carrows, who were among the multitude of Slytherin students who had opted to venture out onto the grounds and watch the new hopefuls test their metal for what would hopefully manifest itself into a role on the team this upcoming year.

Harry only realized just how lost in his Occlumency he really was when he noticed that the keepers were taking off. Technically, they weren't really playing for a position on the team. Not a starting one, at least. Whoever won this round would be serving as the reserve keeper in case of injury. Usually, each team had a single reserve player. They would play either chaser, beater or sometimes even seeker if needed. Keeping was a rather different game to the other three though, and Bletchley, obviously being privy to the fact as a keeper himself, had elected to try out a reserve in his place, just in case.

It was also not uncommon to have a specific reserve for the seeker position for similar reasons. That had been the case last year. Montague had been a reserve player on the Slytherin team, but Makehey had been the reserve seeker, specifically.

By the end of that round of tryouts, most were left praying that Bletchley never got hurt. A seventh year Slytherin named Matthew Archer was slotted into the role, but it was very clear that he would be of no real help in a live game scenario. Finally, Bletchley gestured, and Harry, Malfoy and the other prospective seekers all stepped forward.

"This is going to be one of the simpler rounds of tryouts." Bletchley explained. "First, I'm going to have you lot fly some laps at top speed around the stadium. Ten or so, maybe. This isn't really a test, as much as it's a way to eliminate anybody who's completely useless." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a few students pale and he had to withhold a smirk. Whether Cassius was right about his talents or not, this was one drill Harry would be having no trouble with whatsoever.

"After that," Bletchley continued, "the team and I are going to set up a little obstacle course for you. As a seeker, maneuverability is extremely important. We'll take the top eight times and then the final eight of you will match up in a bracket. The higher you finish, the more favourable your matchup in the first round. The final bracket will be one on ones to see who can win a best of three. Your goal will be to catch the snitch while the rest of us play a mock game. Be warned, the beaters will be targeting you lot specifically. If you win the time trial, you get to fly against the eighth fastest. Second against seventh, third against sixth, and fourth against fifth. Any questions?"

Nobody raised their hand.

"Good," Bletchley said, seeming to be satisfied, "now, up in the air, all of you!"

As expected, Harry breezed through the first round of the tryouts. To his slight surprise and great amusement, Bletchley had been right to start with something simple. There were several crashes, and even some who avoided outright disaster were very clearly inept in the air. By the end of the round, almost half the field had been eliminated and when Bletchley blew his whistle to gain the hopeful's attention, it was a much smaller group that glided over towards where he and the other members of the Quidditch team had set up an obstacle course for them.

It was a rather tight course. There was a long straight to begin, but then, the players would have to take a sharp turn that would have them flying back the way they had come. But this time, they would have to weave through cleverly placed obstacles, set up to force tight, sketchy turns. They would have to repeat this process back the other way before making another sharp turn and flying down the back straight back to the beginning.

Harry figured that if what Cassius said about his maneuverability was true, he would breeze through this round with little issue. Truthfully, it was the actual catching of the golden snitch that he was worried about. Suddenly, he realized just how overconfident Cassius and Calypso must have been. They hadn't even taken him out to try and catch a snitch!

Harry did not have much time to think about it, for he was one of the first ones called forward. In spite of this, by the end of the round, his time still held up as the fastest, and he would be flying against a tall, lanky fourth year boy in the first of the final rounds. Annoyingly, Malfoy had actually posted the second-fastest time coming out of qualifying, with Makehey at third. Less annoyingly, Macnair, who had regretfully not crashed his broom during the laps of the pitch, did not come anywhere close to advancing to the final set of rounds.

It did take Harry a while to get into the flow of the game once the first of the final rounds began. Fortunately, he picked up on it in good enough time, and after a near-miss by his opponent, he managed to nab the first snitch from right under his nose. The second served as much less of a challenge, and just like that, he would go onto the semi-finals. Malfoy and Makehey both advanced, too, but they would have to face one another. As the fastest qualifier, Harry was granted the easiest path to the finals. As a result, he disposed of his fifth year counterpart without much drama in the penultimate round.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Malfoy and Makehey put on a rather impressive duel. Makehey caught the first snitch quite quickly, which obviously had Draco flustered. Up to that point, he had yet to miss a snitch. This lapse in concentration nearly cost him several times, but in what Harry considered to be a rather lucky turn of events that saw the snitch veer away from Makehey and towards Malfoy, he ended up tying their battle at one snitch apiece.

The final round was by far the most intense, but it was actually much shorter than the second. With a sigh, Harry watched along with the rest as Malfoy outmanoeuvred his counterpart and caught the snitch, setting up what Harry considered to be a rather poetic final battle for the position of seeker as he and Draco both mounted their brooms at center field, staring daggers at one another as they waited for Bletchley's call to begin the mock game.

"This is it, Potter." Malfoy hissed from the corner of his mouth. "I'm going to embarrass you in front of the whole house. This is your last chance to back out."

Harry just smirked, feigning as much confidence as he could muster. "I'm getting flashbacks, Malfoy. It's almost like you've said something like that before." Faster than the blonde could retort, the whistle had blown and both of them kicked off, hard, shooting skyward as fast as their brooms would carry them.

As it turned out, Draco's broom carried him upward faster than Harry's. Draco was riding a Comet 260. While the Cleansweep was the far superior model in terms of handling, Draco would have a distinct advantage if it came down to a sprint finish.

Immediately, Harry flew high, high above the game, trying to search the pitch for any speck of gold. In the past, he had wondered whether or not the vampire's ritual had actually made his eyesight better than normal as opposed to simply fixing it. He was by now fairly sure, at least, that he had night vision superior to most people. He had a brief instance of time in the air in which he prayed that would somehow carry over to spotting the snitch.

As it turned out, neither seeker spotted anything for about fifteen minutes. Then, Harry saw it and threw caution to the wind as he went into a rather steep dive. Draco had seen it as well, and he was hot on Harry's tail. In fact, he was gaining on Harry, but Harry would surely still get it first… Until the snitch took a turn towards Draco, who actually took the time to smirk at Harry while he turned his body into a better position to get the snitch.

Out of instinct, Harry reached up and took hold of Draco's broom handle. This not only negated Draco's counter-steering and actually dragged him marginally off course, but it gave Harry, who was desperate not to go down one catch so early an opportunity. As Draco reached to bat Harry's hands away, since nobody was paying them enough mind to call the foul, Harry pulled himself upwards with Draco's broom, doing so just as he spurred on his own model. In a second, Harry had propelled himself forward and was now in front of Draco, in a perfect position to catch the snitch and an equally perfect one to block his opponent from doing likewise.

An instant later, Harry held up the golden ball and the whistle blew, signifying the end of the opening round. Draco flew over to Bletchley without hesitation and began to protest rather loudly that Harry had cheated. In response, Bletchley just scowled and told him that if Harry had managed to cheat and get away with it, good for him; it was exactly what may serve as the difference between a win and a loss. If Draco wasn't skilled enough to deal with that, it was his problem, not Bletchley's.

Naturally, it was a mildly flustered Draco Malfoy that started off the next round. Fortunately for Harry, this made him less likely to catch the snitch. Unfortunately, Draco was a spiteful bastard, and Harry was soon bruised quite noticeably from the handful of collisions the blond boy had forced. By now, it was obvious that Draco played with a blocking, defensive style. Harry was sure there were tactics to negate said style, but none that he was aware of. He would just have to outfly Draco; it would have to be good enough.

As Harry pulled up short, just managing to avoid a collision, Draco dove and Harry cursed. By braking, he had completely stalled his momentum and allowed Draco to take an insurmountable lead in his dive towards what Harry noticed to be the golden snitch. He did follow after him but by that point, it was a formality. Several seconds later, the whistle blew once more, but this time it was to signify that Draco had made the catch.

This meant that it was one all as the two of them lined up facing one another at center field.

"You're finished, Potter." Draco sneered. "No more underestimating you. I've got you all figured out."

Harry chose not to respond. Instead, he was running various methods of how to turn Draco's block first style against him through his own mind. By the time they were airborne once more, he did have the beginnings of a plan taking shape in his mind. The tricky part would be the timing. Harry was going to have to distract Draco until he saw the snitch. At that point, he would have to prevent Draco from seeing it and then set his plan into motion. It was probably a bit convoluted for a game of Quidditch, but as long as it worked, Harry doubted anybody would be pointing that fact out.

With this in mind, the round took a sudden turn that the blonde did not expect. Instead of using his maneuverability to try and dodge Draco, Harry was suddenly using it to be a pest. He would swoop in with a sharp elbow whenever none of the other team members were watching. He would swerve in front of Draco whenever the blonde made to make a move. He would even fly tight, fast circles around the boy to distract him. Needless to say, ten minutes into the deciding round, Draco was fuming. After Harry got in one too many sharp elbows, he lost his composure.

Wheeling around in mid-air, Draco shot straight towards Harry like a javelin. This wasn't exactly what Harry had planned, but if, for once in his life, he was exceedingly lucky, it could work. At the last second, Harry inverted, allowing Draco to fly above him, causing his hair to blow in the breeze he created. Then, Harry did an obvious double-take and dove. To Draco and all others watching, it appeared obvious that Harry had spotted the snitch. In actuality, Harry had done no such thing at all. He was simply trying to lead Draco into a trap and hope the snitch saw the moment after as an opportune time to present itself.

Harry had already observed that Draco was a block first, defensively sound seeker. So naturally, he would tail Harry no matter where he went. Given the fact that Harry was on the more maneuverable broom, this was something he could easily use to his advantage.

Something he was doing at that precise moment, as a matter of fact.

Harry dove straight into the center of the game, drawing Malfoy after him. The greater speed Malfoy could generate thanks to his specific broom model was allowing him to catch up. This was all fine for Harry, who tore through the opposing chaser line like a speeding bullet. Then, Harry signaled to his beater, Bole, to hit a bludger.

The odd thing was, he directed the boy to hit it straight at him.

Initially, Bole hesitated. When Harry insistently and urgently continued his gestures, the older boy shrugged and gave the bludger a generous whack in Harry's direction.

Using his body the best he could, Harry tried to shield Draco's field of view, preventing him from seeing the bludger coming as he did his best to mime the body language one might expect from a seeker who was about to catch the snitch. Judging by Draco's constant stream of cursing behind him, Harry assumed that it was working. Then, at the last second, Harry leaned forward, as if to reach for the snitch and then did a barrel roll in the air, allowing the bludger to sail straight through the space his head had occupied not a second earlier.

And fly straight into the face of Draco Malfoy.

With a sickening crack, the boy's nose fractured on impact and he was suddenly too busy rearing back to even notice that Harry had dove for the snitch.

It appeared that, for once in his life, luck was on Harry's side. And as hesitant as he had been to even try out, when he rose triumphantly into the air with the snitch held high and a victorious grin showing openly across his face, Harry had to admit that may have been the most fun he had ever had in all of his life.

* * *

_**An hour and a half later, back in the Slytherin changing rooms…**_

"Alright, everybody," Bletchley said, gesturing for the gathered crowd to move in towards him, "gather round." The crowd all did so, many of them holding their collective breath, clearly unsure as to where they stood. Some did not look bothered. They knew all too well that they had not performed well enough to make the team. Harry was the exception in the room. Currently, he was doing all he could to not grin like a child on Christmas morning. The elation had yet to wear off, and unlike those contesting for the positions of chaser and beater, he already knew that his place on the team had been secured.

"We've made our decision." Bletchley said, and Harry's eyes narrowed. The captain's eyes had flicked between Malfoy and the three chasers standing near him. To the git's credit, he had actually picked himself up after a well-cast healing charm from Bletchley and entered into the chaser drills. Granted, he had not been outstanding, but he had flown well. Certainly not as well as Cassius, Pucey or Montague, but well nonetheless.

"The beaters don't change." Bletchley started, eliciting groans from the prospective beaters gathered around the room. The still Slytherin beaters, Derrick and Bole, high fived one another with wide grins still on their faces. "Obviously," Bletchley continued, "the keeper's not changing either. Archer, you're reserve. You'll come to practices with the team, but you won't see the pitch in-game this year unless something goes terribly wrong for me." The seventh year nodded, obviously happy with the position, if not completely satisfied.

"The biggest change is the seeker." Bletchley said, and his rather impressed, somewhat surprised looking eyes fell on Harry. "Potter, you're it. Starting seeker for Slytherin House; the youngest in years." Harry bowed his head modestly, stepping forward to take his place among the rest of the team. The grin on Cassius's face could only be described as euphoric. The two of them were separated by Bletchley, who stood in between, but Warrington gave Harry a thumbs up, which he returned with a smile.

"The final change," Bletchley said, surprising everybody in the room, "is that we have a new chaser." Mumbling rumbled throughout the room at that proclamation. Montague, Cassius and Pucey had very obviously outflown the rest. "Montague," Bletchley said, "you've played well for Slytherin and I'm sorry to say this, but you're keeping your reserve spot on the team."

The look on Montague's face was positively terrifying. It was equal parts stricken and vengeful.

"The new starting chaser in his place," Bletchley announced, "is Draco Malfoy."

Immediately, the room was in a proverbial uproar. It took several blasts from the wands of Cassius, Derrick and Bole to silence the crowd. "My decision is final!" Bletchley declared. "I've been made captain for a reason. I think I know how to decide who fits best on a team. To the rest of you, thanks for coming out and we hope to see you all next year." As he said this, he blatantly contradicted his words by glaring forcefully at all of them. "And if anything about who did and didn't make the team leaks to the other houses, I'll have all of your heads hung on my wall."

Several minutes later, after the dejected would-be members of the team had left, Montague rounded on Bletchley. "What the fuck, Bletchley!" he cursed. "Do you honestly think the little shit is better than me? I outflew him in every drill! That spot should be mine! I demand a retrial; a fair one!"

To Bletchley's credit, he did not give the larger boy an inch. "Did you not hear me, Montague? My decision's final. If you're so hung up about it, quit the team altogether. I have no problem bringing back Makehey as a reserve." Montague scowled and stormed from the room. Harry noticed that he had not actually declared any intention to leave the team, but his message was clear.

"A bit touchy, isn't he?" Malfoy asked in a terribly superior voice.

"I don't want to hear it, Malfoy." Bletchley snapped, and Draco suddenly looked very taken aback, if not indignant. "He was right, you know. He outflew you in every damn drill, and most of them weren't that close. The only reason you're on the team is because Flint was nice enough to tell me about your father's promise of new brooms if you made it. I wasn't going to give you seeker if you didn't earn it, since that's way too damn important. But by Merlin, Cassius and Adrian will carry you through the games if it means we get those damn brooms."

Draco was blushing now, obviously outraged but obviously not willing to say anything that might make Bletchley go back on his decision.

"Wait a minute." Cassius asked with narrowed eyes. "Brooms?"

"Nimbus 2001s." Draco said importantly, clearly seeing the opportunity to get back some of his shine as he managed to smile broadly in spite of the negative events of the day. "One for each of us!"

* * *

_**September 14, 1992**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**7:35 PM**_

To the relief of both Laine and Charlotte, Ginny was fairly punctual for their arranged meeting. Granted, she was a few minutes later than the agreed time of 7:30, but not enough for the other two to be justifiably upset. Charlotte doubted she had been taught much about punctuality at home.

She had nothing in particular against the Weasley family, but she had seen the way they always seemed to arrive at King's Cross station with mere minutes to spare before the departing of the Hogwarts Express. Upon Ginny's arrival in Slytherin, Charlotte had also written home about the Weasley family. In response, she had been sent a copy of their file. Many high class, overtly wealthy pureblood families had "files" made up of known information and patterns for people and families. In the file, it talked about how Arthur Weasley, Ginny's father, was a fairly reliable member of the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts division. It also cited, however, that the man was not known for his abilities in regards to organization.

All of that was what prompted Charlotte's first words, harsh as they were. She wasn't particularly bothered by Ginny being a few minutes late, but she knew plenty who would be. Better to drill the message in early than leave the habit out to fester.

"First lesson," she said, "punctuality. Be on time, Weasley. Always be on time if you're not the more powerful party in the meeting. If you can be early without making yourself look needy or desperate, then even do that. When dealing with serious people or problems, being late is hardly how you want to start off."

Ginny flushed and looked as if she might bite back at Charlotte, but she faltered. Charlotte smiled. "See? You're learning already. That temper doesn't get you anywhere in Slytherin. Not unless it's used correctly, of course."

"Used correctly?" Ginny asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Most things can be used, Weasley. It's just finding out how to use them that's usually the hard part."

Ginny looked mildly affronted, but clearly had no idea how to respond in a suitable manner. Charlotte and Laine actually exchanged a smile. She was at least trying to use her head. "Your trunk." Charlotte told her, reaching into a pocket of her robes and taking out the miniature trunk, holding it out to Ginny. "Just tap it with your wand later and it will resize itself. Right now, the password is Slytherin, but I'd change it to something harder to guess if I were you."

Ginny seemed to hesitate. "What's the catch?" she asked suspiciously.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "How about you listen to what we have to say and as long as you at least try to put it to use, we'll call it even." Ginny seemed suspicious but slowly, she reached out and removed the miniature trunk from the palm of Charlotte's hand, placing it into a pocket of her robes.

"Um… thanks." she said, looking down. Charlotte had picked up on this already, but the Weasley's well-documented financial struggles were clearly one thing that Ginny was not at all comfortable talking about. She found herself forcefully resisting the urge to Legilimize the youngest Weasley. It would certainly make this conversation much, much easier. But even without actively doing so, she would naturally pick up on her mood shifts and emotions. It was a useful perk of being a Natural Legilimens.

"Don't mention it." Charlotte said, glancing at Laine to start this conversation. Ginny seemed to be less wary of Laine than she was of her.

"Right," Laine started, "so there are some things that anyone in Slytherin needs to know if they want to avoid getting eaten alive before all is said and done." Charlotte could sense the anxiety rising in Ginny and she tried to assure her with a smile. It seemed to work marginally. "The number one thing is house unity." Laine said. "When we said that last week, you sounded confused. Do you have any idea what we mean?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Slytherin doesn't have the greatest reputation." Charlotte jumped in. "I'm sure you know that better than most people." Ginny winced almost imperceptibly at that comment. Laine shot Charlotte a subtle glare for the off-handed comment, but Charlotte shrugged. What was the old adage? Treat others how you wanted to be treated? Charlotte would rather people be upfront with her if they were letting her in on facets that could make her life exponentially less difficult for the next seven years.

"Because of that," Charlotte pressed on, "we get treated miserably by a lot of the school. I'm sure you know how Gryffindors treat us, but they're not the only ones. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw usually stay out of it, but if they have to choose, at least the Hufflepuffs will always pick against Slytherin. Ravenclaw can sometimes side with us, but that's rare. Since we have all three of the other houses against us, and some of the staff, who are apparently pretty happy to hand out Slytherin detentions, we work on a house unity system. Basically, no matter what you think of the people in Slytherin, outside the dungeons we're all best friends. In public, we always support each other, no matter what."

"So we're not allowed to argue?" Ginny asked, incredulously. "Ever? We just… have to get along with everyone?"

"Merlin, no." Laine said with a laugh. "You just can't be seen arguing by the other houses. In the common room — go nuts. If it's midday and none of us are in the dorms — go nuts, just don't keep us up with it at night."

Ginny nodded slowly. "That… actually makes a lot of sense, once you think of it."

"It wouldn't be in play if it didn't." Laine said with a small smile. "Whatever you think of Slytherin, it's a logical house, if nothing else."

'For the most part.' Charlotte added internally before jumping back into the verbal discussion. "Next rule," she said, "etiquette and customs." she paused. "I… don't exactly know how to say this without being offensive, so please don't take this personally. But, your family has never really been one for following customs or etiquette."

"My parents always said it had no use." Ginny said, sounding more intrigued than offended.

"In your social circles, probably not." Laine said. "Your family's circles, I mean." she specified. "But… when you deal with old purebloods, which is kind of just naturally going to happen in Slytherin, it's a big deal. Not introducing yourself right can be a major issue for some families. As much as your family might not like it, a lot of those families are the ones that run the magical world. So even when you're out of Hogwarts, if you want to make it far in the Ministry, or any other career, really, it's useful to know."

Ginny flushed. "If-if I admit something to you two, do you… do you promise not to laugh? Or make fun of me for it? Or go running off to gossip?"

"You don't know most of the etiquette." Charlotte said, already knowing what was coming next. She had not actually tried to read Ginny's thoughts, but she had practically been screaming them out loud. Even if she hadn't, her body language very well may have given her away.

"But yes," Laine interjected hurriedly, "we promise we won't go and spread it around, or make fun of you for it. It's not your fault that your family… doesn't follow the traditions." Charlotte thought Laine may have been about to say something very different, but she applauded her friend on the save.

Ginny looked a bit apprehensive. "So, it's… really important that I learn all of that stuff?"

"Extremely." Laine affirmed.

Ginny sighed. "How would I go about doing that? Are there books in the library?"

the two blondes exchanged looks. "Maybe," Laine said, "but they might not be the best." Charlotte knew where this was going already. If the Weasleys had such books, which she was sure they probably did, they would not be sending them to Ginny without some encouragement that she was unwilling to provide. Additionally, her family, and by extension, herself, was in no position to go out and buy books on etiquette.

"My family has a very good book." Charlotte put in, sparing Ginny from making that embarrassing admission. Obviously, the smaller girl appreciated it, because she actually smiled gratefully, if briefly. "It wasn't all that long ago we migrated to Britain. My grandfather had to learn all of the etiquette, so he made sure that the material he got was the best. I'm sure I could convince my parents to send me the book, as long as you promise to be extremely careful with it."

Ginny nodded swiftly, looking once more abashed at how easily Charlotte could lend her something that her family couldn't or wouldn't provide.

"Well then," Charlotte said, "that's almost it for the major stuff. After that, we just need to go over some of the… smaller things you might have missed." She was referring to things like the seating arrangements, hierarchy and other such things.

"But one more major thing to go over." she said, looking intensely down her nose at the red-head in front of her. "From now on, speak and act with some confidence, will you?" When Ginny looked confused, Charlotte rolled her eyes. "You're from one of the biggest families of Gryffindors we have in the country, I know that courage is there. It's like what I said the other night about making yourself a target. If you act all scared and small, you're going to be a target. Act with confidence and people will leave you alone, for the most part." Charlotte smiled thinly. "It might even help you make some new friends, who knows?"

Tentatively, Ginny smiled back at her, and Charlotte noticed that her posture straightened and her chin tilted up, if marginally.

If nothing else, it was progress.

* * *

Some time later, when Ginny left the room, Laine turned curiously towards Charlotte. "What is it you see in her, exactly?"

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you mean."

Laine sniffed. "Sure you don't, Missus I'm so good at reading people." Charlotte frowned but Laine did not relent. "You're really going out of your way to help her. Suggesting all that in the first place, buying her a trunk, offering to send her what's probably an ancient book on etiquette. I just don't see what's in it for you."

Charlotte tilted her head. "I wasn't lying, you know? This small and shy act is nothing more than that — an act. She's confused and was put into a situation she wasn't anywhere near prepared for."

Laine sniffed again, amused this time. "Clearly."

"Yes, yes," Charlotte said with a wave of her hand, "but like I said, it's an act. As you said," she continued, putting on the most smug air of self-superiorityshe could muster, "I am excellent at reading people. I can tell you one thing. I actually think I might like the real Ginny Weasley. If nothing else, she has tons of potential."

* * *

_**September 17, 1992**_

_**Severus Snape's Office**_

_**7:43 PM**_

It was after dinner on Thursday that Harry and Cassius walked together down to Snape's office. They had, along with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, received notes that day from Snape ordering them all to his office at a quarter to eight that night. None of them knew exactly what it was about, but Harry had a hunch, one he had not yet shared with his older friend for the simple fact that he could tell the suspense was getting to Cassius and Harry found the fact rather amusing.

Just in the nick of time, the two of them knocked on Snape's door and were admitted entrance. All of the other players were already present. Even Montague, though he still looked quite sour to be anywhere near Miles Bletchley, let alone Draco Malfoy.

"This is all of you?" Snape asked sharply. When they all nodded, he did likewise, quickly waving his wand and summoning seven long, fancily wrapped packages that actually elicited gasps from several of the team members. For his part, Harry did manage not to gasp, though he would be lying if his eyes did not hungrily follow each package until one found its way into his hands.

"These are a most generous donation from Lord Lucius Malfoy." Snape informed them, and Harry could practically see Draco puff out his chest with a deluded sense of self-importance. "He has most graciously purchased each of you the very best tool that I hope you will all competently wield this year. Last season was quite an embarrassment, one that I do not wish to see repeated after so many years of success."

All of the players nodded grimly, astutely aware of exactly how spiteful their Head of House could be. "To assure that you all are well accustomed to these new tools by the time the first match of the season draws near, I have granted you access to the pitch on the early mornings of Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, starting this weekend. It would be… unfortunate if we conceded our advantage by allowing the other houses to realize we had one at all. Potter!" Snape suddenly exclaimed, rounding on Harry. "Why exactly have I chosen such early hours for you all to practice?"

"Because you want the brooms kept a secret, sir. If we practice so early that nobody else will see them, it will naturally be easier to keep that secret."

Snape nodded curtly. "Precisely. See that you do not negate this advantage by flaunting them around like some overblown trophy. If, for some reason, they are discovered, find other ways to work the situation in your favour." All of the Slytherins nodded. "Very well. You are dismissed. Potter, Malfoy, stay behind." Harry exchanged a brief look with Cassius before the latter left him alone in the room with Malfoy and Snape.

"I am well aware of the tension between the two of you." Snape said silkily. "I expect that this tension will cause no problems in any way related to the Slytherin Quidditch team." Both boys shook their heads to indicate it wouldn't. "I will hold the both of you to that agreement rather… forcefully. I care not for what you do off of the pitch. I do not expect a friendship, but I expect a cohesive team that can return the plaque to my office that I have become so accustomed to seeing on my wall." This time, both boys nodded.

"Very well," Snape said, "you are both dismissed." Malfoy was halfway to the door by the time Harry even moved. Only when the former had left the room and Harry himself neared the door did Snape speak once more.

"Potter."

He turned, raising a single eyebrow in question.

Snape hesitated and when he spoke, he sounded very much like somebody who had just swallowed a particularly sour lemon. "Your father was… an admirable Quidditch player in his day. Your brother, as inept as he may be at most things, is also annoyingly competent on a broom. I expect that you will not only match them, Potter, but surpass both of them."

Harry nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

* * *

_**September 19, 1992**_

_**The Quidditch Pitch**_

_**7:23 AM**_

Harry had been quite worried that Cassius may well not get out of bed at all for Slytherin's first Quidditch practice of the year. The earliness of the hour was no problem for Harry. He was often out of the common room practicing magic or reading up on theory in the dungeon classroom long before they were scheduled to practice. Cassius, on the other hand, almost always slept in past 9:00 on weekends. Oftentimes, he struggled to make it to breakfast in time.

The rare acceptions, like when Harry had coincidentally ran into him on the Quidditch pitch, often took place when he had issues sleeping. It did not happen often, but it was known to happen every now and again. This morning was not one of those. Apparently, it had taken a monumental effort from Cassius's year and dormmates, Derrick and Bole, to wake him at all. In spite of that, as Harry and the rest of the team strode silently towards the Quidditch pitch, brand new Nimbus 2001s thrown casually over their shoulder, Cassius was thankfully among them.

As the team neared the pitch, it became apparent that something was off. It was too loud for this hour of the day. Then, as they drew nearer still, Harry cursed aloud, drawing curious looks from those around them. He really did wonder if that damn ritual had sharpened his eyes. "We've got company." he said dryly, and a few seconds later, Draco too noticed the scarlet-clad figures streaking around the pitch. At this distance, they were little more than blurs, but still, they could not be mistaken.

Only one house flew in crimson robes, after all.

"I'll have their heads for this!" Bletchley snarled. "Snape booked us the pitch! They're not supposed to be here! And we're about to lose the advantages of our brooms!"

"We could turn around." Cassius suggested. "It doesn't seem like they've noticed us yet, and we could keep the advantage."

"No," Draco said haughtily, "if they do see us walking away, we'll never live it down."

"He does have a point." Derrick said grudgingly. "And who cares about the advantage? So what? They know we have the brooms. It doesn't mean they can actually do anything about it."

"We don't lose an advantage at all." Harry said quietly, though everybody still heard him. "We just switch out which advantage we have."

"How so?" Cassius asked, obviously the most willing to hear the younger boy's perspective on the matter.

"We lose the element of surprise, but we gain something else." He looked pointedly at each of them in turn. "What would you think if your team, minus the seeker, was riding on a bunch of average brooms and your biggest rivals showed up carrying the best racing brooms that money can buy?"

"I'd be bricking it." Derrick said, nodding along thoughtfully.

"Brilliant!" Cassius said, smirking. "They'll fill their trousers when they see these. Especially since last year, we were handing them their arses before Gryffindor Potter got the snitch. Imagine what we'll do to them this year on Nimbus 2001s!"

All of the players readily agreed, so the team continued its march towards the Quidditch stadium. Harry only saw two downsides to his plan.

One, he would have to be in range of his brother again, which had not exactly been a pleasant experience since the conclusion of their first year. And two, he was really getting sick of that self-superior smile on Malfoy's face anytime that the brooms were discussed. Did he really think himself so superior just by being conceived? What, because he existed, he was better? Because those before him just happened to have money? Harry allowed a small frown to edge onto his face. Cassius peered at him curiously, but Harry shook his head, indicating that it was nothing. He would never be fond of muggles, but the idea of blood supremacy was positively idiotic.

He did not have much more time to think on the matter. It was at that exact moment that the team of silver and green-clad figures stepped out onto the pitch.

And it was approximately thirty seconds later when a rather outraged looking team of Gryffindors began hurtling down towards them.

Wood was the first to land, followed by Charlus and the Weasley twins. Bletchley, Derrick, Bole and Cassius stepped forward, unknowingly casting Harry, Draco and Pucey in their shadow. Harry smirked; this could be a positively perfect moment to give his brother a rather nasty surprise if he had not yet noticed him.

"Flint-" but then Wood trailed off. "Hang on! Bletchley? Where the hell is Flint?" At that moment, Harry's pride at being a Slytherin was reaffirmed. It was a testament to the House at large that the secret of Flint's resignation as Captain had not left the walls of the Slytherin common room.

"Haven't you heard, Oli?" Bletchley asked, sounding affronted. "Blimey, I'd thought for sure somebody would've got the news to you. Flint's off the team. I'm the Captain now." Charlus actually snorted. "Something funny to you, Potter?"

"Kind of." Charlus admitted. "A fourth year keeper who's played what… two years? That's the Slytherin Captain?" The Weasley twins too were smirking, though Wood looked deadly serious.

"Who's your new chaser, then?" one of the twins asked.

"That would be me, of course." Draco drawled, stepping out from behind the lead four team members and out of the shadow cast by the stadium. Harry had to admit, it was a nice image. Draco's braggadocious smirk was perfectly done, and the way the early morning sunlight sparkled off his platinum blonde hair only added to the hollier than thou image he was obviously going for.

Unfortunately, this did not quite have the desired effect on Charlus. He burst out laughing at once, which caused Malfoy to ruin the perfect, nearly ethereal image he'd set up by scowling annoyedly. "You're the new chaser?" Charlus asked. "Oh, this is too rich! Is Slytherin actually that desperate for players?"

"If you want to talk about rich comments, Potter, how about the fact you're accusing somebody of an easy ride when you were given your spot on the team because you're The-Boy-Who-Got-Lucky and all that?"

Now, it was Charlus's turn to scowl. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy glance back at him and suddenly, with a fair bit of surprise, Harry realized Malfoy was setting him up perfectly.

Sometimes, he really did underestimate the power of house unity.

"You must've hit your head, Malfoy." Charlus snarked. "The reason I got on the team was because I embarrassed you, remember?"

"If you say so, Potter." Draco responded. "I only wish I was the seeker. It would be so much fun to show you what would really happen in a fair match."

Charlus scowled. "I bet you paid not to be seeker, Malfoy. What, afraid to play me?"

"Not at all." Malfoy purred with a gleam in his eyes. "There just happened to be somebody… better suited to beat you." And then, recognizing his cue, Harry too stepped out from behind the lead four players and into the sunlight, smiling as innocently at Charlus as he could. To his great amusement, Charlus looked as if he had just been struck by a bolt of lightning.

"Good morning, little brother!" Harry said with mock cheerfulness, drawing snickers from several of the Slytherin players and a fit of sputtering from Charlus, who seemed completely unequipped to respond to the situation.

"Enough of the drama!" Wood snapped. "We're here for Quidditch! We've got the pitch booked, so you lot can bugger off!"

"On the contrary, Oli," Bletchley said, matching the levels of chipperness that Harry had exuded just moments earlier, "I think you'll find it's us who have the pitch booked." With a flourish, Bletchley removed the note from Snape and handed it over to Wood with a shit-eating grin.

When Wood read the note, his face flushed. "I, Professor Severus Snape," he read aloud, "hereby grant the Slytherin Quidditch team full access to the pitch from 7:30-9:00 on every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday mornings on account of a need to train their new talent and adjust to their new brooms." Then, Wood looked up sharply. "New brooms?"

"Oh, you haven't noticed." Draco drawled, his smirk returning in full force. "Just a gift from my father, you know?" On cue, each of the Slytherins held their brand new Nimbus 2001s up to the sunlight, marveling at how the rays of sunshine seemed to dance across the polished golden lettering like some sort of ethereal glitter.

The reaction from the gathered Gryffindors was priceless. Wood's face paled at once. Charlus actually took a step back as his eyes practically bugged out of his head. For once, even the infamous Weasley twins were left speechless, as both of them stood, rooted to the spot like some horrifically lifelike statues.

Things only got more interesting when the chasers landed. Initially, they tried to portray the same air of bravado that the rest of the team had carried just minutes earlier. Then, about ten seconds after landing, they took note of the prominently displayed broomsticks, and their reactions pretty much mirrored that of their companions with picture-perfect synchrony.

"If you can hold that pose for another two minutes, Terrors," said Derrick with some amusement, "I'll give you both a galleon."

"If they hold out for ten," Bletchley picked up, "I'll give them five each. If they save up and sell those antiques of theirs, I reckon they might be able to afford one of our handles." Most of the Slytherin Quidditch team laughed uproariously. Harry forced his lips upwards into a seemingly amused smile. He didn't really laugh in front of people as it was, and personally, he had a hard time laughing at people for financial struggles after ten years of having absolutely nothing at his disposal.

"Charlus, what's going on?" came a rather high, bossy voice as Charlus's two best friends, Ron Weasley and the speaker, Hermione Granger, made their way onto the pitch.

"Oh," Ron said sourly, glaring at Harry and Draco, "it's you twats."

"Come to sucker punch me again, Weasley?" Harry quipped. "Or have you come to give me my turn? I'll gladly cash in, if you don't mind."

Weasley snarled. "I'm not afraid of you, Potter."

"Funny. Not something I'd say if I didn't give the person a chance to defend themselves, but you do you, I guess. Oh and Weasley, for the record, I might let your sister have a go tonight in the common room. I kind of want to see if she hits harder than you. Blaise and I have ten galleons on it, actually." Weasley flushed a shade of puce that Vernon would have been proud of as the Slytherin team howled with laughter. Of course, that had all been a lie by Harry, but he thought it a rather good quip for being put on the spot.

"Or," Draco said after recovering from his hysteria, "have you come to admire our new brooms, Weasley?"

"New… brooms?" Then, he caught side of the labels and reacted almost the exact same way as his elder brothers.

"Nice, aren't they?" Bole asked with a vicious grin. "Draco's dad got 'em for us. If you ask him nicely, maybe he'll fix that shack of a house of yours. I'm sure it would cost him a lot less."

Against all logic, Ron looked as if he might leap at Bole, who was several years older than him and twice his size. Thankfully for Weasley, Granger took a firm grip on his arm and glowered at each of the Slytherin players in turn. Harry had to briefly resist the urge to Legilimize her again, just to prevent whatever tirade was to come.

"At least none of the Gryffindor players had to buy their way onto the team." she snarked. "They all got on because of their talent, and talent alone."

This time, it was the Gryffindor's turn to react with hysterics and Draco's turn to flush crimson. Then, the next words out of his mouth went off like an atomic bomb.

"Shut your mouth, you filthy little mudblood!"

And just like that, all hell broke loose.

Harry stiffened at the use of the word. It had always infuriated him for reasons he could not entirely articulate. He reckoned it had to do with a number of things. His own blood status, his mother's, his distaste in regards to the propaganda put forth by blood purists and all the rest. His hesitation almost got him cursed though. Instantly, several members of the Gryffindor team had their wands in hand and Harry had to lunge to the side to avoid being cursed. Before the Slytherins could retaliate, the youngest present Weasley's bellow drew the attention of all present.

"You'll pay for that, Malfoy!" Then, hilariously, his wand, which was held comically together by what appeared to be spellotape, backfired, sending him toppling back and resulting in the amusing sight of Ron Weasley vomiting up slugs. This was too much for the Slytherin team, Harry included this time. All of them promptly burst into hysterics, and that was the end of the confrontation, as Weasley was led from the pitch by Granger and Charlus. Embarrassed and now without their seeker, the Gryffindors vacated the stadium, allowing the Slytherins free reign over it as they had always planned.

All in all, the morning had been quite successful.

* * *

_**Two hours later, in the Slytherin changing rooms…**_

Despite it being the first practice of the new school year and including two newcomers, one of whom was a complete novice by definition, the Slytherin practice that morning went exceedingly well. Harry figured that the sky-high mood that most of the players found themselves in likely contributed greatly to the practice. For Harry, it was a mixed bag. On one hand, it had been fun terrorizing the Gryffindors. On another, the fact that the word "mudblood" had drawn such a positive reaction from many of his teammates disgusted him.

As a matter of fact, the only other member of the team who had not outright laughed had been Cassius.

It was with this in mind that Harry did everything in his power to assure that he was one of the last to leave the Slytherin changing rooms. Only when his ring informed him that only one other person was present in the changing room did he step out of his cubicle. Malfoy was out of his Quidditch robes and about halfway dressed. After tryouts, Harry had observed how long it took Malfoy to do anything. After that, he had assumed it would be a safe bet that the two of them might end up alone in the changing rooms together.

"Flipendo."

Quick as a shot, Harry had drawn his wand. Malfoy, who had his back turned to Harry as he changed had never even seen him coming. The spell caught him in the back and threw him towards the wall. Luckily for the Malfoy Heir, he managed to invert partially in the air so that his head did not collide with the wall. Less fortunately, the rest of him still slammed into the wall, hard, and slumped to the floor in a gasping heap.

To say that Harry had overpowered that spell would have been an understatement. Not only had he very clearly knocked the wind out of Malfoy, but he was also certain that he had at least bruised a few ribs.

Completely unbothered by the fact, Harry strode forward emotionlessly, his face blank as he quickly made his way over to Malfoy and knelt down, placing his knee on the blonde's chest and his wand against the boy's throat.

"I thought I made myself clear last year, Malfoy." Harry hissed in little more than a whisper. "I thought when you woke up with boils all over your body you'd get the hint. Never. Say. That. Word in front of me!" To emphasize the point, Harry shoved his wand a bit harder against Malfoy's throat. "I don't care what your father taught you to believe, Malfoy. This whole blood supremacy crap is nothing more than that.

"You call Granger a mudblood yet she beats you in every important area for a witch or wizard. You think you're better than me but every time you've tried to prove it, I've handed you your ass on a silver platter, even when you got your older group of pureblood prats to help you." Malfoy's eyes were wide now, desperate even and there was more than a healthy dose of fear within them.

"I am going to tell you this one more time, Draco." Harry said dangerously. "I'm done making threats. The next time you go and spout off the word mudblood in front of me, I'll make all of this look like kindness."

Then, Harry stood, dusted off his robes and strode straight out the door, pausing only to retrieve his broomstick on the way out.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Thank you all for 3,000 followers! That is a crazy number for certain. What's even crazier is that we literally hit in on the six month anniversary of this story to the day! **

**Seriously, you can't write this stuff.**

**These chapters keep turning out WAY LONGER than I expected. This one was actually 14k+, but I pushed quite a bit of it back to the next chapter. **

**I have finally put together a rather detailed timeline of events for the chapters I still need to write this year and I must say — year 2 is going to be way longer than I thought. To put into perspective, I'm somewhere just north of 100k words ahead in terms of what's pre-written and I'm not even at Yule. Needless to say, I am not making changes to the pacing (though it does speed up in October) and I hope you're all in it for the long haul.**

**But for those of you worried about pacing, it does pick up greatly in a few chapters from now.**

**Oh, and Dumbledore's quote from the last chapter was a reference to the character Atticus Finch from Harper Lee's **_**To Kill A Mockingbird. **_**Shoutout to all of you who picked up on that reference.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, August 29th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord editors who contributed with corrections this week:**

**Asmodeus Stahl, Dave R, HansC, Jcaeser, and rawmeat898 **


	30. SS Ch 12: Plots, Ploys and Pain

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Yoshi89, Fezzik and Luq707 for their incredible work on this story.**

**SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: I now have both an official website and Twitter! I will be posting rather frequently on the Twitter, since unlike Instagram, I can easily post without the requirement of a picture.**

**The website will be for things like early chapters. They will be password protected, but the passwords are shared on my Discord server. **

**The next two chapters are up and passwords are on my Discord. If you would like to join, copy the link on my profile and where I have dot in brackets, put . Also, if it says the invite has expired, it's an issue on your end. Simply refresh your browser and make** sure** it is up to date and you should have no problems.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100.**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 12: Plots, Ploys and Pain**

* * *

_**September 19, 1992**_

_**The Grounds of Hogwarts**_

_**10:49 AM**_

As the golden trio exited Hagrid's hut and began to make their way back up towards the imposing form of Hogwarts castle, Charlus hoped rather intensely that Ron was not going to vomit more slugs. That entire fiasco with the Slytherins out on the Quidditch pitch had resulted in Ron ranting about the house of snakes at large. He was still rather pale and shaky, however, which worried Charlus a great deal. With the rate at which his friend was speaking in conjunction with his recent, rather disgusting fits of vomiting, Charlus was not going to be at all surprised if his best mate emptied the contents of his stomach all over him.

"Honestly," Ron was saying, still clearly irate over the whole thing, "they think they're so much better than us just because they have a bit of money! 'Hey, look at me, I'm Draco Malfoy and my daddy is rich and famous! Oh, did I mention my blood's been pure for a thousand years?'" Ron spat violently on the ground and Charlus nodded along.

"Bunch of gits," he muttered, "the lot of them."

"I'm sure they're not all bad." Hermione put in a bit weakly. "They can't all be like Malfoy."

Ron just gaped at her. "Hermione, he called you a mudblood!"

"Yes," Hermione huffed, "and notice how I wasn't defending him, Ronald. Honestly, Draco is immature, arrogant, rude and all of the rest, I'm just saying they're surely not all like that." She looked pointedly at both boys. "You both have family in Slytherin, after all."

"Don't remind me." Ron muttered. For his part, Charlus figured that staying silent was probably his best course of action. In truth, he still wasn't exactly sure what to think in regards to his brother. On one hand, he had undeniably been a bit of a git for the last number of months. On the other, Harry had just done a rather solid impression of an absolute twat out on the Quidditch pitch. Charlus knew he needed to approach his twin, but if that was going to be the reception he received each time he tried, he could be counted as wholly uninterested in the endeavour.

"Honestly," Hermione persisted, "you're being really immature and unfair."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Drop it, Hermione."

"No! I will not drop it! Why do you have to go out of your way to try and make your sister's life miserable just because she's in Slytherin? Do you honestly think she's just going to turn into some budding dark lady just because her tie is green instead of red?"

"They don't exactly have a shining track record, do they?" Ron bit back, clearly irritable.

"You're telling me there's never been a Gryffindor who went bad?" Hermione challenged.

Ron just glared back at her. "Can you give me one?"

Hermione glanced between Ron and Charlus and the latter felt his stomach contract as he realized where her mind had gone.

"Sirius Black." Charlus answered, his voice void of any real emotion.

Ron sputtered, clearly not having been prepared for that last revelation. "Wasn't he her right hand during the war?" Hermione asked shyly.

"Yeah," Charlus muttered darkly, "he was. Right wanker, that one. He was good friends with dad at school, apparently. Something must've changed, or maybe he just led dad on. He reckons he knows what started it, but he won't tell me. But at the end of the war, he admitted to a whole list of crimes. Bragged about it in the courtroom, apparently."

"He was sentenced to life in Azkaban, right?" Hermione asked nervously.

Charlus nodded curtly. "He was, yeah. Still there to this day."

Hermione turned back to Ron. "See?" she asked rhetorically. "Gryffindors can go bad too. It's not just Slytherins."

Ron shrugged noncommittally as the three of them entered through the castle's large front doors. They made it no further than halfway across the Entrance Hall when they were stopped by a stern voice behind them.

Professor McGonagall strode up to the trio, her mouth as thin as ever. That did not bode well for the three of them. "Potter, Weasley," she said, "the detentions you were set to serve for your… arrival at Hogwarts are scheduled for tonight. Mister Weasley, you will meet Mr. Filch in the trophy room at 8:00 this evening. Mister Potter, you'll meet Professor Lockhart at that same time in his office."

Charlus pitied Ron. At the beginning of the school year, he'd have dreaded a detention with the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Now, nearly three weeks into the new school year, Lockhart had proven himself to be far more than a charming smile. Charlus silently reflected that there were far, far worse ways that he could have been spending his detention.

* * *

_**That night, at the home of Rita Skeeter...**_

The lone entrance to the small apartment owned by the Daily Prophet's most well-known reporter creaked open as a crack of light illuminated the otherwise pitch black apartment for several seconds until the door closed. Of course, this was no problem for the person entering the room and the owner of the apartment itself, Rita Skeeter. She could see just fine in any level of light thanks to the rather handy and slightly illegal night vision modifications that had been applied to her glasses. Still, it was pointless to keep the enchantment active when doing so was unnecessary so as she deactivated them, Skeeter waved her wand, causing several lamps around the room to light up and illuminate the place anew.

The apartment was situated right on the edge of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It was still on the favourable side, but barely.

Rita had chosen this exact location for a very specific reason.

Many of the people who knew things that a reporter may find interesting often frequented the shadier side of the alleys. With that in mind, it was much easier for Rita to sneak into the darker alley and eavesdrop on conversations when her apartment was situated so close.

Especially when one considered that she could simply buzz out of the apartment window as a beetle, fly over a few walls and huzzah!

Beyond that, she had managed a fairly comfortable home as a result of its location. Due to its close proximity to Knockturn, there were certainly witches and wizards out there who would avoid the property outright. To Skeeter, this was ridiculous, but she was hardly complaining about the fact. After all, it meant that the price of the apartment was less than it realistically should have been. Which, in turn, had allowed her a rather large apartment with a fair amount of niceties. Rita would never go as far as to call it luxurious, but it was certainly comfortable.

Sighing in pleasure as she removed her shoes, Rita stepped further into the apartment and scanned the kitchen. There was a letter waiting for her on the countertop. Evidently, her owl must have dropped it off while she was at work.

Rita eagerly swooped down upon the letter like a praying vulture and snatched it up at once. Her hopes were high that this would be an anonymous tip-off, or something of the sort. That was hardly out of the ordinary for her. Least of all when unscheduled letters showed up. In spite of her eagerness, she was still sure to cast a number of detection charms on the letter before she tore it open eagerly, eyes widening at the contents.

_Ms. Skeeter,_

_I am a bit out of the loop when it comes to the who's who of Magical Britain nowadays. After so many years away, such a thing is only natural, I suppose. After making some… inquiries, I've been told that you're the person to come to in order to find out anything I need to know about the important people in the country. _

_I'm planning to dip my toes back into English waters at some point in the not-so-distant future, so I imagine you could be quite a useful person for me to know. _

_I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of meeting at Summer Isles next Sunday evening? It would be nice to acquaint in person and discuss any business the two of us may be able to come to._

_Please write back swiftly. Summer Isles is quite the trip for me, so I do need to assure it's planned in advance._

_The best of wishes,_

_Daniel Shafiq_

* * *

_**An hour later, in Gilderoy Lockhart's office...**_

Charlus had made a drastic miscalculation.

Well, he'd made many in his life, but the most recent one had been when he had actually vaguely anticipated his detention with Gilderoy Lockhart.

Despite the frankly disgusting facade Lockhart had put up prior to the first Defense class of the year, he had proven himself as Charlus's favourite professor ever since. His classes were well structured and informative and he was an engaging teacher who seemed to know his subject in an entrancingly exquisite amount of detail.

With all of that in mind, Charlus thought maybe he would be fortunate enough to learn something during his first ever detention at Hogwarts. Well, first detention barring Snape, but that was a different matter altogether.

To his dismay, however, Charlus had vastly miscalculated.

When he'd entered Lockhart's office, the man had barely looked up from the heaping stack of essays resting atop his desk. He had only paid Charlus enough attention to look up, gesture to a smaller desk set out against the far wall and instruct him to begin replying to Lockhart's own fan mail. To say that Charlus had been incredulous would be the furthest thing from a hyperbole one could come up with.

Even worse, it didn't get better as he went.

On the contrary, Charlus found himself cringing at a frankly ludicrous frequency. Every second letter seemed to gush on and on about Lockhart and his achievements.

And those were the easy ones.

Every sixth or seventh letter gushed on and on about Lockhart's perfect blonde hair and stunning white smile. That wasn't even mentionioning the witch who'd described his eyes as a "magnetic pool of perfection that she wanted nothing more than to fall into". Honestly, Charlus had come quite close to pulling a Ron from earlier that day and emptying the contents of his stomach.

But it just went on, and on, and on.

It was nearly midnight when Lockhart finally looked up from whatever he was working on now and glanced up at the clock. "That should do." he decided, eliciting a groan of relief from Charlus, who immediately let the quill fall from his cramping hand. "Have you learned anything tonight, Mister Potter?"

Charlus blinked. The first response that came to mind was to mug off the sods writing Lockhart. Something like how magnetic his eyes were. Logically, Charlus realized that probably wasn't his best course of action. It was with this in mind that he went for a slightly more diplomatic answer. "Uh… learned anything, sir?"

Lockhart sighed theatrically. "Charlus, Charlus, Charlus, life lessons can be learned from any number of things. I didn't just have you draft fan mail responses to punish you. Nor did I do it because I'm too vain to answer the cries of my adoring public. What you were supposed to learn, Charlus, is that fame isn't everything."

Charlus frowned. "What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"

"Flying a car to Hogwarts? I know this is blunt, but you might as well have just written your desire for attention all over your robes. Fame is a fickle thing, Charlus. It can change people, especially at your age. You have a good heart, but I'm worried you're too lost in your fame, or that you might find yourself in that position. You have potential. Don't squander it over something as petty as publicity. Tonight's exercise was supposed to show you exactly what fame gets you. If you didn't notice, I'll fill in the blanks. It's really not all it's chalked up to be." When Lockhart could tell that Charlus was mulling his words over, he dismissed the second year Gryffindor with a grand gesture.

When Charlus had left the room, Lockhart heaved a deep, heavy sigh. He didn't quite have a read on Charlus Potter, as of yet. He was beginning to see the picture though, and it was not one as grand nor as beautiful as he may have hoped for. If things did not change soon, it may be in his best interests to intervene. Perhaps he would wait it out another month. By Samhain, he should have an accurate assessment of the Boy-Who-Lived. By then, he should be able to plan his next set of moves accordingly.

After all, suspecting what he suspected about the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Gilderoy Lockhart was not foolish enough to believe that he had any longer than one year to work with. He had one year to see his goals succeed. It was time he began to make the best of it.

* * *

_**September 21, 1992**_

_**The Library**_

_**7:12 PM**_

Draco flopped down heavily in the seat across from Ares, drawing a scathing look from the librarian, Madam Pince. Ares looked up distractedly from her work, glancing across the table at her cousin. He wasn't exactly looking his best. His hair was perfectly in place, like always, as were his robes. That was about the end of his ideally perfect persona, however, at least in regards to his outward appearance. His eyes were red and he looked as if he had barely slept. His skin seemed a bit paler than usual, too. It was hard for Ares to tell, as Draco was a rather pale boy at the best of times, but she was pretty sure her observation was on the mark.

"Draco, are you alright?" Pansy asked from beside him, turning her head to peer more closely at the blond boy beside her.

Draco just shrugged her off, which clearly did not sit well with the raven haired heiress. "Fine." he said curtly, turning his attention to Benedict, who sat with Ares and the now three second year Slytherins. Pansy and Theodore had been doing their homework before Draco had arrived. Crabbe and Goyle were off Merlin only knew where, but it was hardly a surprise they hadn't accompanied them to the library. The only thing that Ares found marginally surprising was the fact they weren't with Draco. Usually, Draco didn't seem to go anywhere alone without them.

It was certainly odd, but she shrugged it aside.

He appeared irritable today, so perhaps he had wanted some time alone.

As she thought this, something nudged at Ares's mind. It was a revelation of sorts. When she focused on it, she realized that Draco hadn't been looking right for a number of days. Granted, today was by far the worst in terms of his appearance. But he'd been right stuck up since Saturday. At first, Ares had suspected that perhaps his first practice with the Slytherin Quidditch team had not gone as smoothly as he might have hoped. The more Draco avoided questions on the subject, the more Ares began to doubt that initial observation.

"What are you working on, Ben?" Draco asked tiredly. Despite his obvious mood, he still made sure to ask as to the progress of the lone first year boy in the group.

Draco had taken Benedict Cuffe under his wing ever since the sorting. Benedict was a very quiet boy. He was undoubtedly sharp but, after spending much of her time in the boy's presence for the better part of three weeks, Ares still could not say with any degree of truthfulness that she knew a whole lot about him. He was the youngest son of four. His father was Barnabus Cuffe, editor of the _Daily Prophet,_ as well as a stakeholder in the company. His father called the shots in regards to the paper, from what Ares could tell. He was also born much later than the rest of his brothers. His youngest brother had graduated Hogwarts in 1984. Aside from that, there didn't seem to be much to him, really.

Ares wondered what Uncle Lucius's game was with him.

"I'm trying to work on Potions." he said with a sigh. "Not having much luck though."

"I can help with it, if you'd like." Draco offered. "It's probably my best subject."

"You sure?" Ben asked, eyeing Draco speculatively. Obviously, Ares was not the only person at the table to have noticed Draco's current mood.

"Positive." Draco answered in spite of it. "I'm just a bit tired, is all. You can always come to me for help, Ben."

Pansy and Benedict switched seats, placing Benedict beside Draco so they could more easily work together without interrupting the others. Theodore still had his head bent low over a book that Ares was fairly certain did not belong to the Hogwarts library. She suspected that it was also probably illegal, in some capacity, but she hardly cared. Theodore wasn't the only one who had brought a collection of illegal tomes to Hogwarts, after all.

Before Ares could return to her own reading, Pansy was leaning towards her and whispering in a low voice. "He's been a bit off lately, hasn't he?"

Ares did not look at the other girl. She had known Pansy for a number of years, though they had never been particularly close. Of course, she had not been particularly close with anybody save Draco. She liked Pansy more than most, but she didn't trust the older girl as far as she could throw her. Even now, as Pansy asked a seemingly innocuous question, there was a part of Ares that insistently whispered that it was a probe. It was simply Parkinson doing her best to assess the situation in order to further whatever she might be plotting.

"I'm sure he's just tired." Ares answered quietly. "It's been an adjustment for me going from home life to Hogwarts. I'm sure Draco is just feeling the same way."

"I wasn't just talking about lately." Pansy answered in the same, low tone of voice. "He's been different for months now. It's just been really obvious lately." she paused. "Ever since the dragon incident, really."

Ares tensed imperceptibly at that comment. She wasn't exactly sure what had happened that night. She knew that Harry Potter had more of an involvement in it than the papers had indicated, but that was only through inferencing, really. Draco had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the whole situation. She was not at all surprised if he really had been acting differently since then.

"I'm sure he'll be fine." Ares responded, the words sliding easily and effortlessly off of her tongue. "You can always ask him yourself if you're worried."

"Between the two of us, Black," Pansy muttered in an even quieter whisper, "I wouldn't be asking you if I hadn't tried talking to him first. I'm just trying to get a grasp on the whole situation, that's all."

Instantly, Ares knew that Pansy Parkinson was not to be trusted, as her instincts had already indicated. She had the distinct impression that Pansy had just had some theory of hers confirmed. Ares was equally sure that this internal confirmation would lead to the loss of Pansy's loyalty.

She marvelled at her mother's teachings, sometimes. She found it remarkable how putting all of that together was second nature to her. It was as if it just slid into place with minimal effort put in on her part.

Ares did not respond to Parkinson any further. Anything else she said would be absorbed and internalized, and she would give Parkinson no more information.

What she did do, however, was scribble down a note quickly and efficiently, sliding it quickly into Draco's bag when she was sure that nobody was watching her.

* * *

_**September 22, 1992**_

_**The Dungeons**_

_**7:32 AM**_

Charlotte had been perturbed at how early Ginny Weasley had risen the Tuesday morning of their third week at Hogwarts. Normally, Charlotte would be less than bothered by the sleeping patterns of her dorm mates. Normally, she would be completely indifferent to most things done by her dorm mates, even. What made this morning different was that finally, after persistent pestering on the part of the youngest daughter of House Weitts, Charlotte finally had the book of etiquette on her person and was prepared to give it to Ginny.

Laine had asked Charlotte several times by now exactly what she saw in the youngest Weasley. Truthfully, Charlotte couldn't quantify it, exactly. She was certain that there was something there. Whether Ginny Weasley was wearing a well-crafted mask or was simply an unexplored heap of potential, or some other solution Charlotte had not yet pondered.

She doubted that Ginny's entire persona was a facade, but she did think there was a certain degree of truth to the assumption. After all, Charlotte hadn't been exaggerating her ability to read people, not even when she had bragged to Laine quite openly about it. In saying that, she was completely confident in saying that at least in part, Ginny Weasley was hiding something. More specifically, Charlotte was convinced that Ginny was hiding a part of herself. Whether it was done consciously or not, that was another topic of discussion altogether.

Charlotte was convinced that the shy, drawn in girl she had seen thus far was not an accurate representation of Ginny Weasley and her inevitable hidden depths.

Perhaps it was simply her natural reaction to being overwhelmed. If that was the case, Charlotte could understand why she had defaulted to that idea. It must have been truly jarring to be so certain your whole life you were going to be in Gryffindor, only to have the exact opposite happen on the fateful day you had waited for as long as you could remember.

In all honesty, Charlotte felt a certain degree of sympathy for Ginny.

That sympathy did not blind her to the fact that she was certainly a heap of unexplored potential. She had fire, even if she was rarely showing it. If that fire could be moderated and used only in the right moments, if that drive could be focused towards specific objectives instead of being allowed to roam chaotically, then she was sure Ginny Weasley could be something indeed.

The first step of discovering that untapped potential would be for Ginny to not get eaten alive in the pit of vipers that was Slytherin House. Frankly, if she didn't know the necessary customs, that unfortunate event was not a possibility, but an inevitability.

Ginny would never reach her potential if she was ruined too early.

This was Charlotte's way of trying to assure that this exact thing did not happen.

That was what had Charlotte cursing the name of Ginny Weasley early that Tuesday morning. She was not a morning person, to put it lightly. Waking up earlier than normal to chase down the red-headed Slytherin first year was not an activity that would have been high on Charlotte's to-do list… ever.

In spite of that, it was exactly what she was doing now as she followed Ginny out of the common room, lengthening her stride to catch up with the shorter girl. Ginny seemed to hear footsteps, for she glanced quickly over her shoulder to check who it was that was tailing her.

When she saw Charlotte, the indecision was clearly imprinted upon her visage. It looked as if she was conflicted. Should she slow her pace and wait up for a girl who had treated her with a large amount of kindness? Or, should she quicken her stride and evade somebody who obviously intimidated her, at least marginally.

Luckily, that moment of indecision was long enough for Charlotte to capitalize on. As Ginny froze, Charlotte lengthened her stride further, coming up beside Ginny and slowing her pace to match that of her new companion. Now, she was only about a stride behind Ginny. "Relax, Weasley." Charlotte said. "I'm not going to attack you. Merlin, what is it going to take for you to realize that? I've done nothing but help you so far."

Ginny blushed and tried to hide it by looking down. Charlotte was not fooled, but she was at least polite enough to not draw attention to the fact. "Sorry," Ginny muttered, "it's just…"

"Just what?" Charlotte asked, legitimately intrigued.

Ginny squirmed, clearly hesitant to answer the question. She looked from Charlotte, to the floor, back over her shoulder at Charlotte, who still trailed one pace behind her.

Then, her eyes widened almost comically, causing Charlotte to tense. Before she could do more than that, the smaller girl had thrown herself at her, knocking them both to the floor. Ordinarily, Charlotte would be livid. In fact, on any other occasion, Ginny Weasley would have just instantly risen to the top of her shit list. The thing that made this rare occasion an exception was the jet of angry red light that streaked past where Charlotte had been a moment earlier and slammed hard into Ginny's face.

At once, Ginny let out an agonized scream as boils began to furiously spread across her face. Quick as a shot, Charlotte was on her feet, sidestepping another curse as she swiftly drew her own wand. With a swish, a flick and a muttered incantation, a torch bracket flew from the wall. With a gesture, the flaming bracket hurled itself at the two boys who had been stalking her from behind. It missed, but it did make them sidestep into the path of Charlotte's next volley of spells. The more impactful of them missed, but several jinxes did connect. Before she could do more, the two boys were fleeing, evidently not willing to stand against her in a fair fight after being caught off guard by her immediate reaction.

By then, it didn't matter.

Charlotte knew exactly who the two of them were.

Brandon Harper and Derrick Mulciber. Two of the first year Slytherin boys. For a split second of indecision, Charlotte contemplated giving chase. She promptly decided against that course of action, swiftly noting the myriad of issues that could have arisen had that been her chosen course.

Instead, she leaned over Ginny, trying to convince the other girl to remove her hands from her face. When she refused vehemently, Charlotte took hold of her thin wrists, prying her hands away from her face without too much effort. The sight made her wince. Weasley's face was practically unrecognizable. Ginny shrank back, tried to scramble away from her, even.

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley. Hold still for three seconds or I'll bind you and give you an actual reason to be afraid of me!" To her surprise, Ginny actually complied. With a careful hand, Charlotte reversed the spells cast upon Ginny before hauling the other girl back to her feet. "One last charm." Charlotte told her, applying a fairly mundane cosmetic charm that would remove the obvious signs that Ginny had been crying. Minutely, the red-head nodded in thanks. "Sorry for that, Weasley."

Ginny blinked. "Sorry for what?"

"It was me they were after, not you. You just got in the way." she paused. "Come to think of it, why did you take that curse for me, anyway?"

Ginny looked back at her as if the question she had been asked was wholly and completely irrational. "You were being attacked from behind! I couldn't let you take the curse!"

Charlotte had to clamp down hard on her emotions to stop a visible reaction. That was quite possibly the most idiotically Gryffindorish thing she had ever heard in all of her life. "Weasley, don't take this the wrong way, but that might be the single most foolish thing anybody has ever said to me."

"What-"

"Not that I'm not grateful, mind you. I… appreciate it, and all, but you're going to need to curb some of that if you want to make it in Slytherin. Speaking of which," Charlotte added, glancing quickly around them to ensure that the two of them were alone, "I did have a reason for chasing you down this early in the morning."

Discretely, Charlotte slid the rather ancient looking book on etiquette from her bag and held it out to Ginny, who took it with a stunning degree of caution. It looked as though she were handling something either more valuable than anything she'd ever touched, or something that had the potential to destroy half of Diagon Alley if mishandled. The unfortunate thing was that judging by the age of the book and what Charlotte knew of the Weasley family, the former may well have been true.

"You-you're sure about this?" Ginny asked, still seemingly skeptical about Charlotte's generosity. "You're just… letting me borrow this?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Lesson two for the day about being in Slytherin. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. If you're still too noble to take it, let's just say you taking the curse for me was payment, alright? The only thing I ask is that you take very good care of it. I don't even want to know what would happen to me if a page of that book was so much as crumpled."

If possible, Ginny's grip on the book became even more gentle. "I'll take perfect care of it." Ginny vowed. "I promise."

* * *

_**That night, in an abandoned classroom...**_

Ares nearly jolted when the door to the room opened and Draco stepped inside, right on time. She had been there for the better part of ten minutes already and she'd spent most of that time completely spaced out, lost in thoughts she couldn't even remember. When Draco entered, however, her focus returned with shockingly sufficient swiftness.

"You wanted to talk?" he asked, skipping all niceties as he took a seat heavily at one of the desks that had been pushed to the edge of the room Merlin only knew how long ago. Ares nodded minutely as she took a seat across from Draco and placed her hands on the table in front of her, fixing her dark, intense eyes on the blond boy sat across from her.

"What happened to you?" Ares asked, matching Draco's promptness by cutting right to the point.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Don't avoid the question, Draco. Both of us know I'm smarter than that."

"I have no idea-"

"Don't lie." Draco tensed, but he didn't outright deny his cousin's accusation. "You haven't been yourself since you went for your first Quidditch practice. You've been a mess. You look like you've gotten about three hours of sleep a night and you've been in a terrible mood ever since. You can't tell me that nothing's happened. You're moody, but not that moody."

Draco seemed a bit flustered, clearly uncertain as to how he was to answer the question at hand. "I… it's… he…"

"So something did happen then." Ares said in a rather low voice, leaning forward and making direct eye contact with Draco, almost daring him to deny it. Ares might not have been a Legilimens, but she had been told before she had a rather piercing gaze.

Draco hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it and then opened it again. "Ok, ok!" He admitted, sounding anything but pleased to be admitting the fact. "I'm fed up with Potter, alright? Are you happy now?"

Ares felt an odd mix of curiosity, surprise and exasperation at Draco's words. Where the curiosity came from, she wasn't sure. She supposed it was only natural to be curious about the mysterious Potter Heir. "You are talking about the Slytherin one, right?" she asked for clarification.

Sneering disdainfully, Malfoy nodded. "Yes, the Slytherin one. I couldn't care any less about incompetent Potter. He's an arrogant toe rag and a pest, but nothing more than that. Slytherin Potter has actually been the one making my life complicated for months now."

Ares tilted her head to the side, examining Draco critically. "So he did have more to do with the dragon issue than the _Prophet_ reported?"

Draco scowled; it was an ugly expression that did not fit well with his features. "Had more to do with it? The half blood masterminded the damn dragon issue!"

Ares felt the curiosity rise and now, she had no issue in realizing where it was coming from. Loathe as she or anyone else may have been to admit it, setting up something like that was wholly and undeniably impressive.

"How'd he manage that?" Draco suddenly flushed again and was looking anywhere but at the girl in front of him. "Draco?" Ares asked, eyes narrowing as she leaned further forward.

"Why are you so interested?" Draco snapped irritably. Clearly, they had reached a point in this conversation that he was neither comfortable with, nor prepared to discuss.

Ares rolled her eyes. "Hmm… I'm not sure. Why would your cousin want to know? Why would I want to know about the only friend I've ever had?" Draco winced at that, actually looking pained for a fraction of a second but Ares did not relent. "Why would I want to know what is making that person miserable? Why would I want to know why they haven't looked right since doing something they've been waiting to do for years? Has it ever crossed your mind that I'm just worried, Draco? Or, are you so obsessed with yourself now that you can't even tell me the truth? So worried about everything that you're afraid I'm going to be the one who betrays you?" Draco sat still and silent and Ares rose a delicate eyebrow. "I'm waiting, Draco."

To Ares, it looked as if Draco was having a rather painful struggle with himself. She could only imagine the war of thoughts and emotions going on inside his mind at the moment.

"You'll tell nobody about this." Draco said in a voice more serious and stern than Ares had ever heard. She nodded, but not before shooting him a look that rather explicitly implied that such a fact should have been obvious.

"Potter and I had… issues last year. I have no idea what I did to upset the prat in the first place. I must've done something, because the tosser decided to set me up! When he set me up to get in a load of trouble, I spun it on him and stuck it on Davis. We… went back and forth for a while after that, which kind of led to the dragon. I couldn't let the halfblood have the last laugh."

"But it backfired." Ares deadpanned.

Draco sneered. "Obviously." Ares thought that if his voice was a bit deeper, he could have pulled off an excellent impersonation of Professor Snape.

"So, when Parkinson said you haven't been right since May, there may have been some truth to it?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Pansy said this to you?" Ares nodded. "Pansy?" Again, a nod. Draco frowned, clearly having hoped for Ares to answer in the negative. "I… maybe? I don't know, but it doesn't matter. I'm… not supposed to start trouble with Potter this year. But the wanker's making it difficult! He attacked me like a common thug in the changing rooms after the first practice just because I called that know-it-all Granger a mudblood!"

Ares frowned as her brain began to work on overdrive. "I know almost nothing about Potter." she admitted. "But for some reason, he doesn't strike me as a blood traitor, if that's where your mind is going. Use your head, Draco. Is it not obvious what he's doing?"

Draco snarled. "Being a complete tosser?"

"Well, a bit of that, I guess. But I mean why he's doing it. You don't think he realizes you're not supposed to start trouble with him? It would be pretty obvious if you went from trying to ruin him to ignoring him altogether. Maybe he's not satisfied with your father having to pay a bit of gold. Maybe he was hoping for something more personal." she shrugged. "I could be wrong. You would have to investigate more to figure out for sure, obviously."

Draco suddenly looked pensive. "You… think he still has it out for me? That he's trying to provoke me to get me in even more trouble?"

Ares shrugged. "It's possible."

Draco looked annoyed. "But I can't do anything about it! As in, I've been told not to do anything about it! So, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?"

Ares shrugged. "Let it go, at least for now. That would be a good start. If it's bothering you this much, you need to learn to ignore it. For one, if you don't, Potter's plan is actually going to work. Even if it doesn't, this is going to drive you insane. Look at what it's doing to you already, Draco. If you stop reacting, he'll give it up.

"But… if it bothers you that much, you could always try and learn more about Potter. Last year, you just lashed out with something. If you find out what it is that would actually bother him, you might have better luck. Even if you don't, you might figure out why he came after you in the first place."

For the first time during their conversation, Draco took a very long pause in which he looked completely calm and measured. It was as if Ares's statement had given him an entirely new outlook on the situation. "Don't take this personally," Draco said, "but you are the most terrifying eleven year old I have ever met."

Ares stuck her chin up in the air as a defiant look flashed in her eyes. "That should've been obvious, Draco. I'm a Black, after all."

* * *

_**September 23, 1992**_

_**The Slytherin Changing Rooms**_

_**8:11 PM**_

By now, the Slytherin team had finished their third practice of the Hogwarts season. Harry was more than happy to say that those three practices, along with the initial tryout, had been the most eventful things that had happened to him thus far in the year. It was a nice change of pace from last year and even in spite of the time he was grudgingly dedicating to Quidditch, he found himself enjoying the practices quite a bit. Mind you, the thing about being a seeker was that, for the most part, Harry was isolated from his teammates during games. As the rest of them were doing structured and controlled chaser, beater and keeper drills, Harry could often be found flying high above all of them, weaving through complex courses or searching out the ever-elusive golden snitch.

Slowly but surely, Harry felt as if he was getting a handle on the game. He had been reading _Quidditch Through the Ages _as of late, which was a book that, until recently, he'd never actually planned to touch. He'd never explicitly had anything against the sport, per se, but it had never been his cup of tea, either.

He just loved to fly and grudgingly had to admit the genius in the plan concocted by Cassius and Calypso.

Speaking of Cassius, it was he who Harry walked beside as they made their way back into the changing room before going their separate ways towards each of their lockers. Thankfully, each locker also had a dedicated shower, which was something Harry was in desperate need of at the moment. And he wasn't the only one, either. The rest of the team seemed to have the same idea in mind.

The lone exception was Montague.

Ever since he had lost his spot to Malfoy, the boy had been in a rather bad-tempered mood. Harry couldn't exactly blame him for the fact, but he still thought it was about time the would-be chaser grew up. It wasn't as if his life would be defined by not making a Hogwarts Quidditch team. Likely as a result of his bad mood, Montague had seemed to make it his mission to not only outfly Malfoy every chance he got, but to also spend as little time with the team off the pitch as possible.

Harry suspected that this silent protest was actually rather counterproductive. Team chemistry was a major component of Quidditch, as Bletchley endlessly droned on and on about. By separating himself from the environment and being a general prat about the whole situation, Montague wasn't exactly integrating himself effectively into the scheme in a way that would be likely to promote positive team chemistry.

But of course, Harry was sure he was overanalyzing things. He knew that he had been developing that habit, as of late. Such things were not surprising. Not after he had vowed to be more thoughtful in regards to his actions after the fiasco that had been the conclusion to his first year at Hogwarts. Perhaps Harry's mind was now taking that moniker too far, but Harry would rather be paranoid than perpetually made a fool of.

After all, as one of the more personal tomes in the Speaker's Den had said, Persistent, p_roper_ _preparation perpetually prevents poor performance. _

Of course, manifesto may have been a more accurate summary of the book, but that was beside the point.

All of this was to say that Harry had to actively force himself to pay Montague no mind as he removed his robes and stepped into the shower. He sighed contentedly as the water hit his skin.

One of his favourite things about the magical world, bar none, had to be the fact that the water always moderated itself to the user's preferred temperature. Harry had been confused about that after initially diving into Occlumency. After all, it couldn't possibly be Legilimency that the taps were using. But it wasn't. The taps took note of the immediate physical response to a generically warm sprinkle of water. From there, the temperature would adjust accordingly after immediately analyzing said reaction.

All in all, rather ingenious, in Harry's opinion.

Most unusually, the feeling of comfort and contentment lasted only a few, blissful seconds. In its place, Harry felt a rather persistent itchiness take hold of his entire body. He tried to move but suddenly felt his body stiff, rigid almost. From the other showers, Harry could hear his teammates cursing, evidently experiencing something similar. He wondered whether or not there had been a malfunction in the showers, of sorts.

He heard it before he felt it.

One of the other members of the Slytherin team let out a scream from their shower. Whether it was one driven by pain or panic, Harry wasn't sure. A moment later, he realized that either option was equally possible.

He did not scream, but it was a near miss. Every bone in his body felt as if it was cracking and bending. His legs actually gave out and he found himself lying helplessly on his shower floor as the feeling grew worse and worse. After about a minute of this, the feeling only intensified. When he'd experienced the ritual more than a year ago now in Knockturn Alley, he'd likened the feeling to hundreds of small needles pricking all over his body. If that was true, this was hundreds of razor-sharp blades being dug into every orifice.

Harry could not think, he was too overwhelmed by pain. It was worse than his scar had been the year before, far worse in fact. At least that agony had been focused entirely on one part of his body. This was emanating from every fibre of him. The main similarity to his agony in the catacombs was the fact that as he lost consciousness, one of the last things he could hear was the catcophony of his teammate's agonized screams.

What stood out as different, however, were the two voices Harry could also hear, muffled and faint as if they were standing outside. It sounded as if they were laughing, but as Harry's final thought accurately summarized, by now, he had lost the ability to discern reality from fantasy.

* * *

_**September 25, 1992**_

_**The Hospital Wing**_

_**1:32 AM**_

Harry awoke with a small groan as he reached up to rub at his eyes. He felt incredibly stiff. Stiffer than he had ever felt in his life, even. Coming from somebody who had occupied a small broom cupboard for ten years, that was saying a lot. His arm felt as if it did not want to so much as move. He did manage to force it into compliance, but it was a struggle. He tried to sit up but again, it felt like a task.

"Careful." said a familiar voice from beside him. For a split second, Harry tensed. The last person to say that to him in this room had been his brother. Minutes after that comment, he'd been sent back to Durzkaban and any relationship he'd formed with Charlus had been torn apart. The more rational part of his brain recognized that it was not Charlus who was speaking.

"Cassius?"

"Morning, Harry." Cassius greeted in a whisper, glancing around the room. "Or night, I guess."

"What time is it? What happened? What's going on?"

"Slow down, Harry." another voice said. It was considerably softer than Cassius's and he glanced to that side of his bed, almost groaning aloud with the effort of such a small movement.

"Calypso?"

She just nodded, offering a weak smile. "I've been here for quite awhile, actually. Hestia and Flora were here earlier. Your other friends were, too. They're obviously off sleeping now."

"But what-"

"Hold on," Calypso told him, raising a hand to forestall his questions, "let me put up privacy wards."

"My wand?" Harry asked, both wanting to add his own spells and feel the security of it in his hand again. Calypso summoned it to her and gently handed it to Harry. He tried to sit up, but couldn't.

"Want help?" Calypso asked, clearly concerned.

Harry hesitated. His desire to sit up in a more comfortable position was warring with his desire not to be touched. In the end, he decided he would go mental if he had to lay in this position for any longer, so he nodded. Gently, Calypso helped ease Harry up into a sitting position against his now propped up pillows. At least now, his tension could be passed off as whatever the hell had happened to him.

"Whatever happened, is it gonna stop me from casting magic?" Calypso shook her head, so Harry flicked his wand. "Muffliato."

The familiar, oddly comforting magic spread from Harry's wand. He marvelled at the ironic oxymoron which was his most recent thought. The magic omitted by the Muffliato charm felt naturally oppressive, yet it was still one of the spells that comforted Harry the most.

"How do you know that spell?" There was an edge to Calypso's voice, one that Harry had never heard there before. Harry's eyes narrowed; one of these days, he was really going to need to work out the origins of that damn spell.

"Better question, why does it matter? You're not the first person to act surprised that I know the spell."

Calypso hesitated. "Harry, that's a… very obscure privacy spell."

Harry just peered challengingly back at her. "How do you know of it, then?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, sorry."

Harry looked annoyed, but moved on quickly. "Fair enough, I guess. Anyway, what the hell happened? I realize I'm in the Hospital Wing now, but why? I just remember something happening in the shower." he cringed. "It was painful — extremely painful."

Cassius too was wincing. "Don't remind me." he muttered. "We were pranked, or something. Some bastards replaced the water with a potion."

"The Terrors," Calypso muttered, "I'll bet you anything it was the Terrors. Only Gryffindors could be idiotic enough to overlook everything that could've gone wrong with that 'prank.'"

"And for those of us who don't know what happened?" Harry said carefully. "What exactly was the potion meant to do? Did it go wrong, or something?"

"Oh, no." Cassius muttered darkly. "It went perfectly to plan, I'm sure. The fucking idiots just didn't think of the logistics. Like… oh, I don't know, the fact that growing scales could've fucking killed us?"

Harry's jaw fell agape. "G-growing scales?"

"That's how they found you." Calypso informed him. Her voice was perhaps a bit softer than normal. "Montague forgot his bag in the changing room. When he went to go get it, he found all of you, passed out in your showers. Apparently, you were each in a pool of your own blood."

"You remember the feeling in your bones?" Cassius asked and Harry tentatively nodded. "That was the scales being formed. And the feeling that every part of you was being stabbed by a knife? That was our scales pushing up through our skin."

Harry was not a squeamish person, but he found it remarkably challenging not to cringe at the images that had flowed to the forefront of his mind. "So, I'm assuming that's why I can barely move right now?"

"Yup. Pomfrey had to vanish the scales, but she couldn't do it without taking a hell of a lot of bones with them. We were all put under while our bones regrew themselves. You lot are all waking up right about now. Bletchley and I have each been up for a few hours. We realized something was up right away and tried to get out of the shower. We got about halfway, so the damage was mostly to our lower bodies. You lot had it worse because you didn't react fast enough."

"Do I even want to know how long I've been out?"

"It's Friday morning." Calypso told him gently. "The twenty-fifth of September."

"Bastards!" Cassius snarled. "All those dumbass lions think they're so brilliant, so clever. They don't realize that for all the jokes they make about Junior Death Eaters and all this other bullshit, those two dickheads have done worse than most of Slytherin. We could've died! Literally fucking died!"

"Have they been caught?"

"Of course not! They're smart enough not to leave evidence. Since we all passed out, it's not like we can give a testimony, is it?"

"I heard laughing." Harry offered weakly.

"Yeah, Bletchley said he did too. That's hardly proof though, is it?"

"I guess not." Harry said with a sigh. He was going to have to look into the Weasley Twins. Thus far, he had paid them no mind, but if they were setting up pranks that could potentially be lethal and targeting Slytherins, extremely ill intent or not, they might have to slide quite near the top of Harry's ever growing list of priorities.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor…**_

Lucius set down his last paper for the night with a sigh. He stretched back in his throne-like chair, intent on heading out of his study and up to bed.

Before he left his study, however, Lucius slid the drawer of his desk open and removed his most recent correspondence that he considered to be of note.

_Lucius,_

_I will be meeting with her this weekend at Summer Isles. _

_I thank you for the mutually beneficial agreement. I hope it will work out well for both of us in the end._

_Pleasure doing business with you,_

_Daniel Shafiq_

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**For the first time, I actually missed my Saturday upload date. Lightning struck a power line at about 8:00 AM on Saturday morning, and nobody in my area got power back until about midnight. So yeah, I'm really sorry about the inconvenience, but not a whole lot I could have done. **

**For those who do not remember, Daniel Shafiq ran unsuccessfully against Barty Crouch Sr. for the position of Minister for Magic in the 1982 Ministerial Elecction. He was the Conservatives' representative, though he lost in resounding fashion. As for what he has been doing since, you will find out next chapter. It should be known by now that I don't exactly forget about characters.**

**Also, Fred and George are not murderous psychopaths, for those who have not pieced that together yet. They are simply morally colour blind and rather impulsive. They are far too clever for their own good and don't often think through the full repercussions of their actions. That will be a running theme as the story moves forward. **

**And slight spoiler here, but for those who are worried about it, there will not be a prank war or anything like it any time soon.**

**Finally, I know Harry appeared very little this chapter. The next two chapters focus quite a bit on subplots, and then Harry is brought more into the fold once more after that. Also, for those concerned about pacing, it does speed up. The end of year 2's fifteenth chapter will be Samhain.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted on Saturday, September 5th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord editors for their contributions this week:**

**Asmodeus Stahl, bloodstainedsoldier, ccp, rawmeat898 and Sesc.**


	31. SS Ch 13: The Dead of Night

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you'd like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter ( ACI_100) and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and The Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 13: The Dead of Night**

* * *

_**September 25, 1992**_

_**The Headmaster's Office**_

_**7:57 PM**_

As per usual, Charlus was admitted into Dumbledore's office before he even had the chance to knock on the door. This time, he managed to get all the way to his seat before the venerable old man looked up, if only because the Headmaster himself seemed to be nose deep in a rather complex-looking pile of notes. After about a minute, Dumbledore looked up and gently moved his pile of papers to the side.

"My apologies, Charlus. I do love and cherish almost everything this illustrious job has to offer, but there are certainly rare components of it that I am not as fond of. The monotony of inevitable paperwork certainly falls into the latter category."

"Uh… that's alright, sir. You wanted to speak to me?"

"indeed, I did. To start with something potentially lighter, how are your friend Ronald and his family handling the… surprising result of their youngest sister's sorting?"

Charlus hesitated. "Ron's… a bit upset, I guess. He's not pleased she was sorted into Slytherin and he kind of went off on her a couple of weeks ago. I haven't seen them talk since. Ron, Hermione and I talked about it last weekend and he still wasn't happy."

Dumbledore scratched at his beard. "I did hear about their confrontation. It saddened me very deeply. Do try and remind Ronald of the things I reminded you of a year ago. The colour of one's tie does not dictate who they are. It is our choices which define us, as well as the complex and intricate thinking that goes into each and every choice we make."

Charlus just nodded, being somewhat accustomed to Dumbledore's whimsical ways of speaking. "I'm not sure about the others," he admitted. "The twins haven't talked about it but I don't think they've gone in on her either. I… don't really talk to Percy, to be honest."

"Such things are not a surprise to me. There is a significant age gap between yourselves, and the pair of you are quite different from one another. Do keep an eye on the situation for me, will you?" Charlus nodded again and Dumbledore steepled his fingers, obviously about to get to the true contents of the meeting.

"Speaking of sibling relationships, I don't suppose you are aware of what has happened to your own brother?"

Charlus frowned. "Harry?" He realized as soon as he asked the question how stupid it was. What other brother did he have? Dumbledore did not comment on his moment of idiocy. Instead, he just nodded benignly, prompting Charlus to continue. "I… uh, haven't, no. I… haven't talked to him at all, actually."

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose it is better than being openly antagonistic. Allow me to enlighten you, in that case. Two nights ago, after practice, the entire Slytherin Quidditch team were the victims of an extremely ill-thought and childish prank that could have very well had disastrous consequences."

Charlus felt his heart quicken. "What happened, sir?"

"It appears that the water in the Slytherin showers was replaced with a potion that caused all seven of them to grow rather painful scales." Dumbledore stare pierced Charlus. "To elucidate further, scales that grew alongside bone and then forcefully pushed their way up through each player's skin."

Charlus actually paled as the impulse to vomit briefly arose. That was a terrifying image that he did not need to contemplate. "Are-are they-"

"Oh, they are perfectly alright, though the road to recovery was a painful one. In order to remove the rather inexpertly grown scales, Madam Pomfrey had to vanish a vast number of bones. Of course, those bones all needed to be regrown. Regrowing a bone is unpleasant. Regrowing a vast number of them is painful enough that our esteemed matron thought it best that none of them wake at any time during the process. They were all awake by this morning, though they are not being discharged until after breakfast tomorrow."

Charlus was even paler now. He was a bit conflicted in regards to his brother, even if he could admit that he himself had been a git for months now. Still, nobody should have to go through that. "Did you catch who did it, sir?"

"Unfortunately, we have not. That is actually why I wished to speak with you, Charlus. I had hoped that you might know, or at least, perhaps suspect who the culprits might have been? The offence was… quite heinous. It can not go unpunished. Even if I thought it could, the Board of Governors is pushing the staff quite hard to investigate further. Lucius Malfoy is, after all, the Head of the Board. I will be announcing a formal investigation at breakfast tomorrow, as well as urging students with any information to come forward. Before I do so, however, I thought I might endeavour to ask if you have any insight on the matter?"

The Weasley twins were the first names that rose to the surface of Charlus's thoughts. But surely Fred and George would never do anything that malicious? They were pranksters and could be gits from time to time, but they weren't that bad. If they had somehow been behind it, surely the prank had been meant as harmless. Perhaps it had gone terribly wrong, in one way or another.

That was the only way Charlus could even imagine Fred and George being responsible.

But even if they somehow were, it wouldn't be fair for them to be expelled for a prank gone wrong. For Charlus had no doubt that whoever had been behind this prank would likely be expelled for such an offence

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, coming to the decision to keep all of that to himself. "I have no idea."

As Dumbledore politely dismissed him, Charlus made one promise to himself on the way out of the Headmaster's office.

He was going to look into this.

* * *

_**September 26, 1992**_

_**Severus Snape's Office**_

_**9:13 PM**_

"What can I do for you this evening, Miss Parkinson?"

Snape spoke in his typical, silky tones, raising one, greasy eyebrow in question as he stared curiously upon the Parkinson Heiress. It was rare that Snape actually had students come to him directly. Part of that was his reputation, he was sure. Though it was true he favoured Slytherin House rather blatantly, he was also well-known for his brutal honesty with those of his house while outside his classroom.

"Well, sir, I think maybe I should've gone to a Prefect about this. I'm not actually sure it's worth your time, but I don't know any of the Prefects very well, you see? I… didn't want to bother them. I didn't want them to get upset, especially because they were studying and-"

"Miss Parkinson, you will cease the telling of this unbefitting sob story at once." Immediately, Pansy sobered, realizing that her Head of House would not be deceived so easily. "Make your point promptly, Miss Parkinson. I do not have the time for misplayed mind games or poorly perpetuated attempts at ascertaining my favour through some tasteless sob story."

Pansy nodded. "We have a Transfiguration assignment due by the end of this week, Professor. I've tried everything and I just don't get it! I really could have gone to a Prefect, but I was afraid they would just tell me to shove off. It's never been my best subject but my parents expect better grades from me this year. I was wondering if you could set me up with a tutor, or something? Maybe a study partner, if not. It could even just be somebody good in my year. I don't need free answers, just a bit of help."

Snape studied her for a long number of moments. "I am well aware that this is an attempt to further a personal scheme, Miss Parkinson," Snape said bluntly and at once, Pansy deflated. "However," Snape continued silkily, "your Transfiguration grades truly are poor, and it likely would be in your best interests if you were… guided in the right direction. I shall arrange a meeting for you on Tuesday evening. Be in my classroom at 8:00. Do not be late."

Pansy debated whether or not she should specify her desire if Snape was going to play into it anyways, but at this point, she thought it best not to test her luck. Hopefully, he had correctly deduced her true intent, or at least part of it and not just that it was a scheme of some sort. "Thank you, Professor," she said gratefully. "I'll… make it a point to work on my grade in Transfiguration."

"Dismissed."

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom...**_

Harry winced as Hestia's well-placed cutting curse just barely made impact, opening a fairly deep cut on his cheek. He had tried to lean out of the way but she'd changed directions faster than he'd anticipated. Knowing that a follow-up spell was to come, Harry threw himself to the floor on instinct, not taking the time to think more on the now thickly bleeding wound she had opened. Sure enough, three spells sailed through the space he had just occupied in quick succession. In an instant, Harry was back on his feet.

He batted aside her attempt to disarm him and countered with a quick, fluid spell chain of his own. Chaining spells together was something he had always been good at. Probably because Voldemort had been a stickler for the tight precision of wand movements. It was this precision that allowed him to fire off his own disarming spell, followed by a full-body-bind, a stunner and a cutting curse in quick succession. Hestia did an admirable job of avoiding the first three but the cutting curse sliced a long, jagged cut on her arm, which was exposed by the top she had chosen.

Despite the brief look of pain on his older friend's face, Harry could not help but feel excitement rise within him. He had duelled Hestia a number of times over the months. Out of the four of them, she was definitely the second best duellist after Calypso, even though the gap between first and second was very wide. This was the first time Harry had actually wounded her. In his estimation, it was an achievement worth celebrating.

Unfortunately, her next move was to conjure a flock of ravens which bore down on Harry with razor-sharp beaks and talons exposed. Hastily, Harry conjured a Protego shield to grant himself more time as he tried to conjure up the focus to make an attempt at vanishing the birds. On Grace's recommendation, he had worked diligently on the vanishing spell, but it was not coming easily to him. He had yet to manage it and he could already tell this would not be the time.

Luckily, Hestia was not cruel enough to watch him get his face torn apart by the birds.

At the last second, she sent them off course, but it was too late for Harry to take advantage of her mercy.

The birds had been used to obscure his vision. Which was how Hestia managed to sneak in a well-placed blasting curse that tore through his shield. Thankfully, the shield did absorb the curse itself, but the residual impact still sent Harry tumbling backwards, his wand skidding out of his hand. Seconds later, Hestia had summoned his wand, and the duel had ended.

Annoyed, Harry got to his feet and accepted his wand, handle first. "You're improving," Hestia commended. It was probably the closest thing she would ever give to a blunt compliment. "You're improving incredibly fast, actually. It'll be… interesting to see how these duels go in a year from now."

Harry nodded, thanking her quietly before healing the cut on his cheek. It was a bit deeper than the Episkey charm was meant to mend, but he took care of most of it and Calypso finished the job seconds later. She echoed Hestia's statement about Harry's rapid improvement as the four of them took seats at a number of the desks to take time and recover after the round of duels.

"Have any of you heard anything about the Terrors actually getting punished for trying to kill me and Cassius? Aside from Dumbledore's announcement at breakfast, I mean."

"Nothing," Cassius said through gritted teeth. "I'm sure the teachers all know who did it, but the bastards are too clever to leave proof."

"Shame," Harry said coolly, casting his eyes around the room. "I don't suppose any of you have any decent ideas on how we might actually get them back?"

"Get them back?" Flora asked, as if she was unsure about what Harry meant.

"Well, personally, I'm not too pleased about the whole mess, to tell the truth. If we don't, will they not keep doing it? Who knows what they'll try next time if this was their first idea."

"They'll lay low for a while," Calypso said reasonably. "Mind you, they'll pull their minor petty pranks and whatnot, but they'll avoid doing anything major until they think it's safe to act again."

"Which makes it the perfect time to strike back," Harry reasoned. "They've been targeting Slytherins the whole time I've been at Hogwarts. Now, they've gone and pulled something like that."

"They don't think like we do, Harry," Cassius explained. "If we get them back with something vile, most people would get the hint and stop. Those idiots would take it as a challenge. They'd think it's some kind of game and it would only get worse until one of us really did do something drastic."

"Or we could just do something drastic from the start and end it in one move."

"It's not worth it," Calypso said sharply, locking gazes with the youngest member of their group. "I know you're upset about being attacked and I would be too, but don't play into their games. You're better than them, a million times better. There's a reason you're in the house of the ambitious and they're not. They're too busy focused on being school bullies to actually see the big picture. You should spend your energy working on things you actually care about, like magic. Don't waste your time on those two idiots, especially not with Quidditch on your plate now, too."

"We'll make them pay for it on the pitch," Cassius vowed. "We'll make the both of them look like idiots. It's like Calypso said, not worth our time."

Solemnly, Harry nodded. Perhaps he was just too vengeful, but letting those two tossers off easy felt wrong to him. Calypso and Cassius made valid points and for now, he would listen.

But if the twins pulled anything else in the future, Harry would have to look into a way of ending their one-sided bullying once and for all.

He didn't like it. Not at all. But for now, he would comply with his friend's wishes.

* * *

_**September 27, 1992**_

_**Summer Isles in Diagon Alley**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Rita had seriously contemplated falling back on her default tendency for any and all meetings of the business or personal variety. In her opinion, showing up fashionably late was a rather excellent way to set a tone for a meeting and to quickly establish an unspoken hierarchy, of sorts. On this odd occasion in late September, she eventually concluded that such a choice would not be prudent.

There was the small issue of her curiosity to contend with. She was genuinely curious about this man in many ways. Not least of which was where he had been for the past ten years. Only months after losing the ministerial election of 1982 in a landslide defeat, Daniel Shafiq had vanished without a trace. Lucius Malfoy had apparently received written permission to serve as proxy for the Shafiq seats, but beyond that, the man had left no indication of where he was or why he had left.

Rumours had circulated over the years, speculating that he had emigrated to somewhere in Eastern Europe. Personally, Rita had always thought such rumours to be rather lazy. Much of Eastern Europe, particularly those nations that had once formed the Soviet Union were rather secretive. Unlike Magical Britain, France, America and even some major nations in Asia, they did not broadcast their news for the world to see. Germany fell into a sort of middle ground. They would put out the information they wanted to be seen as opposed to anything and everything going public like in Britain.

As a result of the opaque nature of these nations, Skeeter had never put much stock in these rumours. It was rather lazy journalism to make a bold claim on the simple and singular basis that it could not be disproven.

Needless to say, the reporter was very curious. With Shafiq vanishing so soon after a ministerial campaign and being little more than a ghost for the past decade, she could not help but wonder not only where he'd truly been and what he'd actually gotten up to, but also what exactly had brought him back to Magical Britain.

And why now, of all times.

This curiosity meant something else, too.

It meant that to Rita, Daniel Shafiq was an unknown.

She had no idea how much, if any power, he had at his disposal. She had no idea how he might react if she were to show up late, nor did she know if that was a tendency of his, as well. And if she did somehow manage to offend him, she knew nothing of his temperament.

It was uncharted waters for the reporter, and it made her extremely uncomfortable and more than a little bit frustrated, but she had decided that wearing a metaphorical life jacket would be her best course of action.

Part of the reason she often did pull the fashionably late routine, at least when dealing with more known companions, was because Rita herself was an extremely impatient person. It was that exact fact which made her extremely thankful that at 8:00, the exact time the two of them had agreed upon via letters, the door to their room quietly slid open, and a very dapper wizard strode into the room with a definite air of confidence about him.

He was of average height and had a lean sort of look about him. His hair was a dark brown and perhaps an inch or two longer than what would be considered average. In spite of that, it was well-styled in a very classy, sophisticated sort of manner. His facial features were regal and well-defined. His dark eyes had a perpetually calculating look about them. Tonight, he wore simple, but shockingly elegant dress robes of a sleek, black material. His red accents danced rather fabulously in the low candlelight of the room. As they were in the restaurant at this time of the night, the beachside view on all four walls was a night-time view.

If nothing else, he was a rather handsome man who seemed to have an admirable sense of both style and punctuality. Rita, being the impatient person she was, found herself rather grateful for the latter. She only had to wait for about ten minutes and the man had quite literally strode through the door just as the clock struck 8:00.

"Good evening, Ms. Skeeter," Shafiq greeted politely, offering her a warm smile as he took the chair across from her before performing a more formal greeting. To her mild annoyance, his accent, though very light, actually did sound Eastern European. Perhaps if it was heavier, she would be able to specify further. As it was, she noticed only because she'd been listening for it.

"A pleasure, Mr. Shafiq. Or, is it still Lord Shafiq?"

The man smiled thinly. "For all intents and purposes, I suppose it is still technically Lord Shafiq while I am on these isles. For you, darling, call me Daniel."

He was smooth, Rita would give him that. If she were almost any other woman, she suspected she might have blushed.

Fortunately for her dignity, she was not any other woman.

She realized exactly why the two of them were here. For one reason or another, this was a business meeting.

Rita doubted Shafiq was simply returning to Britain to lure a witch into his bed. And even if he was, she was realistic enough to realize that she would not be his first choice. Certainly not a witch he would go out of his way to seduce for the sake of pleasure, in any case. Rita was good enough looking, sure, but she was no bombshell, per se. And though she was by far the top reporter at the Prophet, even if that Doe fellow was closing that gap rather significantly as of late, she was not exceedingly rich or important.

To summarize, Rita was not delusional enough to trick herself into believing that she was the kind of woman who Daniel Shafiq would go out of his way to impress.

As she thought on all of this, a well-dressed waiter entered the room and took their orders. Seeing as Shafiq was footing the bill, Rita ordered a rather extravagant meal. To the man's credit, he did not so much as bat an eye. Really, if he was as clever as Rita suspected, she was sure that he had expected exactly that as soon as the waiter had entered the room.

When the man left, Daniel turned his dark, calculating eyes back on Rita. In spite of herself, Rita felt a shiver run up her spine. Not out of lust or any such emotion. His eyes were just so probing. It was as if his very stare was serving as thorough and clinical observation of not just her appearance, but her very soul. It was like Legilimency, but she knew it wasn't. She was no master Occlumens, but she was competent in the art.

"You are single, correct?" Shafiq asked silkily. Rita's eyes narrowed but she nodded. Shafiq smiled easily. "Relax, Rita. I have no plans of seducing you or any such nonsense. Simply making small talk is all. From what I remember, Brits tend to do most of their business after meals."

Rita sniffed. "It depends on the Brit, I suppose. Personally, I like to enjoy my meals. If you wouldn't mind terribly, Daniel, I'd like to get the business out of the way."

Shafiq studied her for a number of seconds before slowly nodding. "If you wish," he agreed easily. "I doubt it's any mystery to you why I'm here, Ms. Skeeter. If your mind is as sharp as your pen, you'll know exactly what it is I want."

Rita rested her hands on the table, peering intently across at the man seated before her. "Well, my pen's quite sharp, Daniel. I'd like to think I still have a pretty good idea as to why you're here though." Shafiq showed no reaction to her words. He just kept staring straight ahead, obviously waiting for her to get to the point. "You want information, I'm sure. You think I'm your best bet for blackmail material, so here you are."

Shafiq's lips twitched. "A bit crude, but not too far off the mark, I suppose. I have no intention of blackmailing anybody at the moment. Frankly, it's a headache I have no interest in putting up with at this time. What I would like from you, Rita, is the lay of the land. The real overview, mind you. Not the censored trash that your Ministry of Magic puts out.

"It's been years since I've left Britain. I imagine that many of the top power players remain the same, but the game has changed, I would assume. When I last left, the country was still in shambles after the Dark Lady met her maker. Now, I imagine that Britain is mildly more stable than it was ten years ago. I want to know, Miss Skeeter, who are the true power players of Magical Britain? Who is it I need to go to in order to get real business done?"

Rita smiled sweetly back at him. "You might have to tell me more, Daniel. If you'd like my help, you would have to tell me what kind of business you're interested in."

Shafiq smiled sharply. "You Brits do love dancing around the point, don't you? I have not missed that in the last ten years. Let's cut to the chase, Rita. I want information from you and you want information from me. You want a scoop and I want to open myself some avenues. I think we can help each other here, provided we're both… cooperative. Reasonably so, at least."

Rita tilted her head. "Sorry, Daniel, but I don't sell out my sources."

"I'm not asking you to. All I need to know is some names. If you'd be so kind as to tell me exactly what kind of compensation might interest them, that would also be more than welcome."

Rita bit her lip. It was nothing damming, she supposed. At least, it didn't have to be. She could, of course, provide Shafiq with blackmail material, which would serve as an excellent method for him to make whatever transactions he was interested in making.

But that was a sure fire way to make very dangerous enemies.

"I'm sure I can tell you a bit about a few names," Rita said diplomatically.

Shafiq smiled, reaching into the pocket of his robes and withdrawing a small, discrete pamphlet. With widened eyes, Rita realized it was dedicated to the Potters. "I'm sure you can, Rita," Daniel said, and Rita could practically hear the amusement in his voice. "After all, I do enjoy your work."

Rita did valiantly try to keep her eyes from widening but she found herself to not be quite successful in the endeavour. She was fairly sure he didn't know that she was an Animagus. His voice was a bit smug, perhaps, but not enough so to imply he had true blackmail material on her.

Still, it was an impressive deduction to make. Devilishly difficult to prove, but not impossible.

Just then, the door opened as their meals arrived. Discreetly, Daniel slid the file off the table just in time. When the waiter left the room, he pulled his meal towards him and began to cut the steak on his plate, clearly waiting for her response.

"Touché," Rita conceded with a slight inclination of her head. "Quite tricky to prove, but useful."

"I don't intend to blackmail you. I just personally find that revealing the truth upfront makes conversations far less guarded. Especially between relative strangers." Rita had to give him one thing. The man was good — very good. "But, I'm a fair man," Shafiq went on. "I know it kills you to let unfounded rumours float around so freely. So, I'll give you the scoop you want. My condition is that the article in question is released no time soon. It will be published when I give the okay, no sooner, no later. Those are my conditions, my trade proposal. It's all on the table, Ms. Skeeter. Take it or leave it."

Admittedly, having to wait to publish the article was irritating, but not impactful, per se. Unless she wasn't the only reporter he was meeting, but she doubted that seeing as her being a reporter clearly wasn't his primary reason for meeting her. "Fine." Rita agreed haughtily.

Daniel smiled, reclining back in his seat as he took a long sip of his wine. "Well then, ask away, Miss Skeeter. The floor is yours." He paused. "It should be obvious that I won't tolerate any tampered quills or altered accounts."

Rita nodded stiffly, pulling her purse from under her chair and removing a roll of parchment and a magical quill. When she had set the latter up to accurately dictate the conversation, she began. "Where have you been for the past ten years? With respect, it's quite unusual for a would-be Minister for Magic to just get up and leave the country."

Daniel seemed to ponder the question before answering it. "I realized that Magical Britain was not what I needed at that time. That election and its entire process taught me many things. One of which was that I wouldn't be able to achieve the things I wanted in Britain. No time soon, at least. Once Crouch became Minister and I came to that realization, Magical Britain had nothing to offer me. I've been in Eastern Europe ever since. Nowadays, I proudly represent the Resurgent Republic of Hansa as one of its top political minds."

That was news to Rita Skeeter.

In 1920, a number of the most powerful nations in Eastern Europe formed the Soviet Union. The reasoning behind this was that considering Grindelwald's impending war, the countries realized that it was likely they would need to rely on each other for support. Funnily enough, the muggles followed suit two years later. This was not unusual. Oftentimes, when a major political play was made in the magical world, it would be reflected in the mundane world not long after, especially when it was one of that magnitude.

Ultimately, the tactic was ineffective, as Grindelwald still managed to steamroll his way through Eastern Europe. But when he fell, the Union remained. Crippled by Grindelwald's war, they relied on each other for more than forty long years.

In the mid to late 1980s, there were rumblings that the Soviet Union would disband, as several of the magical nations believed that after all this time, they were well enough off to stand on their own two feet. In 1988, those rumours became reality when Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia disbanded from the Magical World's Soviet Union and formed the RRoH, or, the Resurgent Republic of Hansa. Skeeter knew the name had historical significance only because she had written an article for it in the _Prophet_.

The Hansa portion of the name was in reference to the Hanseatic League, which had been a union of nations in the Baltic region from the fourteenth to eighteenth centuries. This union had existed in both the magical and muggle worlds, which really wasn't all that surprising. Apparently, the name "Hansa" was an allusion to the region's past history.

"What is your role, exactly?" Rita asked, genuinely curious.

"I have several," Shafiq admitted. "Most notably, I am the newly minted international ambassador. For several years now, I have served as a top political advisor. I was one of the many who pushed along the process of the union's founding in the mid to late 1980s. It was a long, tiresome process but in the end, it's all worked out for the best."

"Is that what brings you back to Britain then? Your role as international ambassador, I mean."

"Among other more personal matters, yes."

"What can you disclose about the founding of the Republic? Details were scarce when the news first broke, as I'm sure you know."

"Very little, I'm afraid," Shafiq answered apologetically. "That's a bit above my pay grade, unfortunately."

Rita very highly doubted that was true, but she could hardly press him on the matter. "And what of those more personal motivations? Any comments on those?"

"Not at this time."

Rita sighed, sitting back to ponder more questions. Shafiq, on the other hand, took the chance to lean forward. "While you think of more questions, I have some for you as well, if you're willing?"

Nearly two hours later, the two of them concluded their meal. Rita was fairly happy with the information she had gathered, even if she was mildly miffed about Shafiq's insistence that the article was only to be published on his command. She had given him the information he had wanted, but she hadn't given away anything damming.

All in all, she was rather pleased with the exchange.

When Shafiq stood, he neatly made his way around the table to pull out her chair as she too took her feet. As he did so, he seemed to be a bit tipsy, likely as a result of the wine he had consumed. He steadied himself with a hand on Rita's shoulder. She felt a slight yank as his hand forcefully and inadvertently tugged at her hair, but she made nothing of it.

When Shafiq apologized in a manner marginally less smooth than he had been thus far, she simply waved him off.

She was in too good of a mood by this point to be overly bothered by a hand on her shoulder.

* * *

_**September 29, 1992**_

_**The Potions Classroom**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Harry paused outside the door to Snape's classroom with narrowed eyes. In typical Snape fashion, he'd been told to show up to the classroom the next night during their Monday morning Potions lesson. Just as typical, Snape hadn't told him what he would actually be doing. He had just told him to bring his textbooks, which Harry found wholly unhelpful.

He could tell, with the help of the enchanted ring he still wore on his finger that there was one person inside the room. The logical assumption would be that the person was Snape. For some reason, Harry considered that very unlikely. Snape did not exactly go out of his way to make Harry's life easy, so he highly doubted he was about to start some sort of secret tutoring sessions.

After spending about two minutes standing outside the room and trying to figure out who was inside and what was going on, Harry gave up. In the end, he had always known that there was only going to be one way to find out. Still, paranoia had reared its head a fair number of times as of late. After the events of his first year, it was only natural, after all.

Sighing, he knocked lightly several times on the door. When he heard no immediate response, Harry correctly assumed that the door was enchanted to block noise both ways. Keeping this in mind, Harry took a firm grip on the doorknob and quietly slid the door open while he positioned his other hand to summon his wand at a moment's notice.

He had to admit, whatever he'd been expecting, Pansy Parkinson was not it.

"Parkinson?"

"Potter." Harry just stared at her, trying to mentally put the puzzle together. They'd spoken privately a grand total of twice, and both of those occasions were direct components of a sort of business acquisition.

It was that thought and Harry's memory that put the pieces together as he quietly closed the door behind him.

Parkinson had come to cash in. With some amusement, Harry decided that he wasn't going to make this easy on her. Not at first, anyway.

"I'll admit, Parkinson, I wasn't sure what to expect when Snape told me to turn up here. Whatever it was, you weren't it."

Pansy just tilted her head while gesturing for Harry to take the seat across from her. As he made to do so, she endeavoured to respond to his rather open-ended statement with one of her own. "I'm not sure whether or not I should be offended by that."

Harry shrugged as he took his seat. "Personally, I thought I was beneath your notice."

Pansy blinked. "You what?"

"You've never exactly been my biggest supporter, have you? I mean, you never went out of your way to make my life hell like some others I could mention, but you never exactly minded when they did it. It never stopped you from supporting them."

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "So, because I didn'tkiss up to you, you think I thought I was better than you? A bit rich, isn't it?"

Harry shrugged, deciding to get to the point. "I think it's about right. You think all people like me are beneath you, don't you?"

Parkinson's eyes narrowed further. "What are you on about, Potter?"

"Don't play dumb, Parkinson. It's a waste of my time and yours. I've seen the way you look at Tracey. You've never gone out of your way to curse her, but I've seen the glances. The way you grudgingly put up with her when Daphne was around. I wasn't much different, really. You never went out of your way to talk to me last year. You actually weren't interested until I offered you something in return. You preferred Malfoy, obviously. You had no problem following him around while he tried to get me and Tracey expelled." He raised an eyebrow. "You clearly didn't care about 'halfblood scum' last year. I'm curious, Parkinson, what's changed?"

The two of them had a rather intense staring contest in the moments that followed Harry's challenge. For his part, Harry had to actively resist the impulse to try and push past her eyes and glean at least her general thoughts. Merlin, Harry couldn't wait until he could actually learn Legilimency. After about a minute, Parkinson looked away, sniffed and then glared back at Harry.

"Why are you making this so difficult, Potter? You obviously know what I want since you've already brought it up. I'm sure you remember the deal as well as I do. So what do you want from me?"

"Answer my last question first, Parkinson. I'm still deciding."

Pansy sighed. "Fine then. Yes, I chose Draco. Can you blame me? The heir to one of the richest and most powerful families in Magical Britain. Lucius Malfoy being a family friend. Not a close one, I admit, but still. I mean, really, no offense, but who would you have bet on? Draco's group, which also includes Theodore, and heir of a Founding House, or your group? Yes, Daphne is the heiress of a House at least as powerful as Draco's and even more prestigious, but Davis is a nobody, Zabini isn't even a House in England and I knew nothing about you."

"So you just made assumptions. You assumed I was like any other halfblood — not worth your time."

"But honestly, can you blame me? Can you blame me for picking Draco's-"

"Parkinson, you either don't get my point or are avoiding it. I think it's probably the latter, so let's make this very direct. I couldn't care less about Malfoy. As long as he keeps that damn slur out of his mouth, that mess is over. If he keeps throwing that word around in every damn conversation then yes, we have problems. I don't care that you picked Draco right away. I would've probably done the same thing if I was in your position. My problems, Parkinson, came later.

"You want me to just open my arms and let you into my group of friends, but there are two major problems with that. For one thing, how can I trust you? You stuck it out with Malfoy as long as he was useful to you. You made damn sure I was the better option before deciding to switch sides. He tried to ruin my life last year and you stuck by him. How can I honestly believe that you're not going to backstab me as soon as you see a better option?"

Parkinson fixed him with a long, hard stare. "First of all," she started, "I have no idea what Draco did to you. I know exactly what he did to Davis at the beginning of the year, but I have no idea what you mean when you say he tried to ruin you."

Harry's eyes widened. She wasn't lying. He knew that much at once. He could sniff out a lie from a mile away most of the time, and that sixth sense of his was screaming that she was being honest.

That did change things, at least a little bit.

"Even if that makes you a bit more decent, it doesn't really answer my loyalty question, does it?"

"I'm not making a vow or signing a contract. You're just going to have to trust me."

This was going to be a problem. Harry did not trust people. Not easily, at least. Granted, between him and Charlotte, he thought the chances of Pansy getting away with some sort of play were fairly low. It still wasn't a risk he was thrilled to take, but he supposed if it was necessary.

"I'm going to pretend to be way more naive than I actually am and just take your word for it, for now. So, let's just summarize this. You want to slide into my group of friends even though you practically hung off of a rival of ours last year?" Scowling, Pansy nodded. "And you want to leave your group of well-bred purebloods to come hang out with two worthless halfbloods?"

"Can you just get to your point, Potter? It's not like it matters, anyway. You already agreed last December."

"I don't remember signing anything."

Pansy suddenly paled. "You gave me your word! You wouldn't-"

"Not unless I had a good reason to, no. But I need to make sure I don't have a good reason to tell you to bugger off. That's the entire point of all of this." Technically, Harry was not bound to do anything. Among purebloods, however, giving your word was not something to be taken lightly. It was only done with true intent and if you openly violated an explicitly verbalized agreement, it would not be something you wanted floating around. It was a rather effective way to plunge your reputation straight into the dirt.

"Here's the deal, Parkinson. I'm going to hold up my end since you held up yours. As long as you answer one question one-hundred percent honestly and make me one promise."

Pansy just sighed. "Fine — what do you want?"

"Why now? Why are you finally picking me over Malfoy?"

Pansy didn't seem to want to answer that question but after a time, she acquiesced. "I stuck it out with Draco as long as I could, like you said. He's been… different since the end of last year, but really different lately. I put my bet on Draco, like you pointed out. It's obvious that it was the wrong bet. I… was raised by parents who would've wanted nothing more than for me to have Draco's children. I thought tying myself to him early was the best thing to do. Obviously now, I realize it isn't."

The answer was blunt and clinical, but that was exactly what Harry wanted in it. "Fair enough," he accepted. "Now, you do realize that both me and Tracey are halfbloods, right?" Pansy nodded. "And you realize that right now, if I have to pick between you and Tracey, I'm picking her every time." Pansy seemed to glower at that but nodded. "I have a feeling you'll be civil to me, if for no other reason than the fact that I'm the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House. But Tracey isn't. I hate to admit it, but you were right. She's basically a no-name halfblood.

"Can you promise to not only be civil to me and Tracey, but to actually try and ignore our blood? Can you promise to treat me and Tracey like you would treat any other rich, powerful pureblood? Can you promise that if you enter our friend group, you can actually try and form friendships and not just business partnerships?"

The pause that followed Harry's string of questions was the longest and tensest one yet. This time, Pansy did not meet Harry's gaze. Instead, she sat stock still with her eyes closed as if she were in deep thought. A full minute later, she slowly tilted her head up and opened her eyes, finally locking them onto Harry's emerald gaze.

"I promise that I'll treat you, Davis and whoever else you like as if they were a pureblood heir or heiress and that I will actually try and form friendships and not just relationships."

Harry smiled and held out his hand. "Well then, I'm a man of my word, so I guess we're done here." He paused. "Oh, one more thing. If we're going to try this whole 'friends' thing out, call me Harry."

Pansy took his hand. "Pansy," she answered shortly but not impolitely. "And… if we're going to be friends now, I don't suppose you'd help me with some Transfiguration? That was the excuse I gave Snape, but I actually don't have any idea what McGonagall has been talking about."

In spite of himself, Harry's lips twitched. "I don't have all night, but we can spend some time on it, sure."

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorms…**_

Benedict Cuffe's week was off to a miserable start. This week was the first of his Hogwarts tenure in which the teachers had truly unleashed their full, unguarded wrath upon the new, first year Slytherins. That was to say, the mountain of homework which sat in front of the youngest son of House Cuffe was truly gargantuan in comparison to any they'd had prior to. It was because of this that not only Benedict, but also his year mates, Derrick, Archer, Martin, Brandon and Alex were all cooped up in the quiet privacy of their dormitory. They were all working diligently to finish the outrageous amount of work on all of their collective plates.

Benedict found himself jolted out of his work, however, when a faint glow emanated from his school bag. Unfortunately, this also drew the attention of all the other Slytherin first year boys.

"What do you have there, Ben?" Derrick asked with interest, his dark eyes roaming over Ben's school bag, which was opened just a crack.

"Nothing," Benedict answered hastily, sliding the bag further under the desk and subconsciously moving his feet to either side of it in order to serve as a kind of shield. Derrick shrugged and looked away, but Benedict was not fooled.

The glow had caught the eyes of his fellow first year Slytherins.

And its source was something that he could allow none of them to see.

* * *

_**October 2, 1992**_

_**Knockturn Alley**_

_**11:24 PM**_

With a soft crack, a tall, pale-skinned man with slick-backed raven hair appeared about a block away from a rather shady apartment complex. To most, the sight of the low, battered building that lay ahead would be underwhelming, if not outright depressing.

But to the young, keen reporter named John Doe, it was all he had.

John had lost his parents at a very early age. In fact, he'd lost his parents as they had attempted to take him home from the hospital. Both of them died in a tragic car accident. It was only much later in life that John realized his magic was likely the only thing that had saved him. That night, he had been brought to an orphanage. Apparently, it was somebody's sick idea to name him John Doe and for some, god-forsaken reason, the name had stuck.

Fast forward years later, and the quiet, awkward outcast of the orphanage who made mysterious things happen around him was given a Hogwarts letter. While at Hogwarts, John had been a Ravenclaw who had not made a great number of friends. He had been a decent student, but never brilliant. He'd excelled in History of Magic, but was average aside from that.

When he'd graduated Hogwarts, he'd known immediately that journalism was what he wanted to pursue. By then, he had already known that for years. He had spent a great deal of time researching his parents, their origins and anything to do with them. Those were the days when the idea of journalism had first crawled into his mind.

Then, in 1986, John Doe had graduated from Hogwarts and several years later, in 1990, he had been employed by the _Daily Prophet. _Even after being employed, money was tight. The newspaper employed a large stable of writers, but oftentimes, they only used a few of them.

Thus, John Doe had been forced to purchase a very low budget apartment in Knockturn Alley. It had been the cheapest place he could find and at the time, that had been all he'd cared about. Finally, after his big break that had been the Potter family gala of 1992, John was starting to become hopeful for his prospects. The _Prophet _had been putting him in a number of big spots lately and soon, he planned to move out of this dump.

But unfortunately, tonight was not that night.

Tonight, John was apparating back home after a long, tiring day at work. Actually, it had been a long, tiring week. John was greatly looking forward to just sitting back and relaxing for the night but as soon as his feet touched down in the shady half of the two connected alleys, John immediately knew that something was wrong.

He drew his wand immediately, lighting its tip and turning in a full circle to find the stare he could feel upon him. There were no lights of any kind around him, so John could see almost nothing beyond what was lit by the tip of his wand.

But about three-quarters of the way through his circle, his wand light found a figure. She was rather familiar, too. In the dim light, he couldn't make out much, but those ostentatious glasses were nearly impossible to miss.

"Rita?"

"Good evening, John." Her voice was perfectly neutral, which was what John had come to expect over his several years of employment for the _Prophet._ Despite the fact, he knew that she had been rather bothered by the entire fiasco involving James Potter and his family's gala.

"What brings you to Knockturn Alley, Rita? For some reason, I didn't peg you for the type."

John almost recoiled at the smile on Rita's face. "Just taking care of business, John." Before John could do so much as move, Rita's wand had slid from her sleeve and it was slashing through the air. Then, she incanted, and the words she spoke shocked John Doe so greatly that he didn't even attempt to move or cherish the last moments of his life.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

* * *

As the killer quickly disapparated, another man lurking nearby nodded in satisfaction as he shuffled under the invisibility cloak that his employer had supplied him with. This job had escalated quickly, but Mundungus Fletcher had to get paid somehow.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**If you guys haven't figured out the ending yet, be patient. As crazy as it all seems right now, I promise you it makes sense and will all come together in the next chapter**

**I'm happy to finally have Shafiq back in the equation. I have been planning his backstory in detail for quite some time now, so it's good to have him back. I hope that scene didn't come across as too much of an info dump.**

**For those who missed it in the chapter, the fictional Resurgent Republic of Hansa is an allusion to the real-life Hanseatic League. If you haven't been able to tell from the references in the fic thus far, I enjoy history. **

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, September 12th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Thank you as always to my lovely Discord editors for their assistance this week:**

**Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898**


	32. SS Ch 14: Schemes Uncovered

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I usually don't do these at the beginning, but just a quick request on my part. Please read the full AN at the end of this chapter. It explains some things that close some potential plot holes, and it will likely prevent me from being bombarded with questions in reviews and PMs. I couldn't really explain these things in the chapter without making competent characters look foolish and ignorant, so I had to do it in AN.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 14: Schemes Uncovered**

* * *

_**October 4, 1992**_

_**A Room In The Dungeons**_

_**9:52 PM**_

Harry sighed as the pressure on his mind relented as Grace leaned back. "That should do for tonight," she told him, neatly concluding yet another one of their Occlumency focused lessons. With Harry's inclusion onto the Quidditch team, they had slightly altered their schedule. Now, they worked exclusively on combat magic every Thursday night and Occlumency every Sunday. Learning Occlumency was a slow process. Well, according to Grace, he was actually progressing quite quickly, but it was a much slower process than level one had been thus far. Granted, Emily had forewarned him that this would be the case, but it was still mildly frustrating. As much as he tried, Harry wasn't the most patient person the world had ever seen, and this fact stared glaringly at him during Occlumency lessons as of late.

For now, Grace wasn't actually attacking his mind, per se. They still had yet to progress past the stage in which she launched weak probes into his mind and simply allowed him to clear it in spite of the presence. Even the presence of the probe made the clearing of his mind more difficult. He could do it easily but not quite instantly. According to Grace, there would be a stage in which she would actually have to increase the potency of her probes, but that would not come until he could consistently clear his mind instantaneously in spite of a weak probe's presence. She did say, however, that said time was drawing quite near.

Harry had conflicting feelings about that inevitable time in the progression of his Occlumency. On one hand, Harry was, as noted, impatient. He wanted to improve as fast as possible. On the other, that was the point of the practice in which Grace would actually have to attempt to breach his defences. In the process, it was inevitable that she was going to glean memories.

Regrettably, Harry had quite a vast array of memories that he would prefer to be kept from any eyes, no matter who they belonged to. Even if he was starting to trust Grace more and more each lesson, that did not mean he wanted her to potentially relive his worst memories.

"You seem bothered," Grace observed, peering curiously at the younger Slytherin in front of her.

Harry shrugged. "A lot on my mind, that's all."

Grace did not immediately answer, but when she did, her voice was carefully modulated. "I'm assuming you're frustrated about not being able to speed through level two in the same way you did the first stage?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Don't worry about it. I know it might not feel like it, but you actually are speeding through stage two. At this rate, you'll be onto level three well before the end of the year, which would be much, much faster than average." Grace paused. "I think you're at a point where you can start looking into subskills, too. There isn't a whole lot for level two, since most of the more useful skills require a very firm grip on Occlumency, but there are some things that could definitely be of interest to you."

"You said that subskills could be learned on my own, correct?"

"They can be, yes. They shouldn't give you any problems at this stage, at least. Go research them and if you have any questions, you can always ask me. If we need to spend a session on them, that's fine. Between the two of us, I really don't think you'll have a problem with them."

It was still odd getting complimented by anyone. It didn't happen much until Hogwarts, with the exception of the odd peer commenting on his intellect throughout his muggle school days. Even then, instances of that became less and less frequent as he had grown older. Primarily, because most of the time, praise of any sort levelled towards Harry usually resulted in the person who praised him getting beat to a pulp after school hours.

Since joining Hogwarts, he had been praised far more often. By his peers, friends and teachers alike. In spite of the fact that it happened more often, it still wasn't frequent. Mostly because of his group of friends. All of them, with the exception of Tracey, in some instances, were very modulated in what they revealed or said. This made things like open praise infrequent.

In light of that, Harry still felt an odd warmth rise in his chest every time somebody praised him. It was a nice feeling, but it was almost always contradicted by a feeling of awkwardness as well. As of yet, he had not quite figured out how to respond to praise from friends. It was easier with strangers, for some odd reason. There was less pressure with strangers. Harry was used to putting on a facade for strangers, so it was easy to take in stride.

With friends though, another thing was still somewhat new to him, it was still a situation he was learning to navigate slowly.

With all of this in mind, it wasn't really a surprise when his only reaction to Grace was a small, slightly awkward smile and a muttered thanks.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorms…**_

Benedict found himself thoroughly exhausted as he entered his dormitory on Sunday evening. The last week had been by far the busiest of his Hogwarts career thus far. The workload had taken a toll on him, but the same could be said for most everyone in his year. Oftentimes, students looked forward to the weekend for the much-needed respite it often provided. However, for Benedict and most of his year mates, their reality over the past two days had solely consisted of the library, in which they poured over an absurd number of texts for assistance and cross-references.

Benedict could only hope the teachers finally relented a bit this week. Aside from a couple of assignments that were not due until later in the week, he had mercifully caught up and if it could stay that way for more than twenty-four hours, Benedict would be profoundly grateful for the fact.

Finally, being done with his work for the weekend, Benedict was intensely looking forward to a bit of relaxation. He had politely turned down Alex Jugson's offered game of chess in favour of a calm, quiet night in the dorm. At present, Benedict wanted to do nothing that was mentally more fatiguing than reading. Well, he might write to his parents, a bit, but that would be the extent of the exertion he would be willing to put up with tonight.

It was, upon later reflection, the night in which Benedict had been more mentally exhausted than any thus far.

It was also the night that taught Benedict that the force of irony truly was a fickle and petty thing. It often struck when those at its mercy were at their weakest because in its estimation, causing a bit of mayhem in one's life clearly wasn't enough. If it did that and also exacerbated existing stress simultaneously, that was a more worthy result of its intervention.

The precise manner in which Benedict Cuffe learned that hard reality was manifested in what greeted him upon entering the Slytherin dorms. As soon as he pushed the door open, he paused, mouth hanging agape as his eyes bulged with worry.

Most of the dorm room was untouched.

The exception to this was the space around Benedict's bed.

His trunk was turned on its side and left open with his clustered belongings spreading haphazardly out around it. Clearly, the standard wards that came with the trunk hadn't been enough. He had never even considered that he might have needed wards of a stronger variety, and his father had certainly never mentioned the fact.

Thoughts of the clearly broken wards on his trunk were not what plagued Benedict as he hastily scrambled to sort through the mess on the floor, heart racing faster and faster as his continued search for a very specific belonging continued to produce no results.

After five minutes, Benedict completed the third full search of his belongings and by this point, his heart had practically beat out of his chest.

He hadn't brought many things to Hogwarts he deemed as essential.

But the one thing he absolutely could not afford to lose was the small, black book that he used to communicate with his mother. Not only was it something sentimental, but if somebody found it, managed to break the privacy enchantments and read its contents, the results would potentially be catastrophic, and inevitably be disastrous.

With terror closing around his heart, the youngest son of House Cuffe raced back out of the common room, intent on sending a letter of warning as soon as possible.

If the sacred secrets of the past were about to be uncovered, those who would be most directly and impactfully affected should know as soon as possible.

* * *

_**Fifteen minutes later, in a different dorm room in the dungeons…**_

Only one room down from the distressed first-year Slytherin and completely unaware of his housemate's trouble, Harry Potter retreated behind his warded curtains and slid his own, slim, black book from his bag, propping it open and putting a quill to the pages for the first time in what felt like ages.

_Emily,_

_Apparently, I've been making good progress with Occlumency. It doesn't really feel like it, to be honest, but I guess my tutor is probably in a better place to say than I am. _

_Not surprising in the least. _Emily wrote back. _As I told you, the stages of Occlumency get exponentially more difficult and monotonous to progress through. Did she give any specific updates on your progress?_

_Just that she thinks I'll easily finish stage two this year._

_Hmm… I would expect nothing less if truth be told. If you keep the same dedication you had this summer, I would estimate some time in the late winter or early spring, perhaps? Though admittedly, she should have a better estimation than I, even if I have superior knowledge in the field._

Harry never failed to be amazed by Emily's casual confidence. She wasn't braggadocious or anything of the sort, nor did she go out of her way to claim herself above others. That being said, if a natural comparison came up, she would clinically and confidently state her superiority each and every time. It was similar to how she had spoken about her alternative methods with such a startling degree of confidence and clarity. It was one of the things that had convinced Harry to fully buy into her system of teaching mind magic in the first place.

_That wasn't all she said today._ Harry wrote. _She told me to go and research subskills of stage two._

_Wise of her to wait as long as she has. Judging you based on the limited amount of information I have, I am going to assume that you have likely already at least skimmed the subskills contents of stage two Occlumency?_

With a twitch of his lips, Harry wrote back his affirmative answer.

_And please tell me that you have not tried any of it on your own before myself or your tutor has told you to proceed?_

_I haven't, no. Believe it or not, I've actually only skimmed the subskills bit. I've been more focused on combat magic, Runes and Arithmancy lately. Also in getting further ahead in my other school subjects._

The pause this time was a bit longer than normal, but the response was still swift.

_Runes and Arithmancy? If I am correct, neither of those subjects is taught at Hogwarts until the third year. Wise of you to work ahead in foundational branches of magic, nonetheless. I would be happy to answer any questions about either of those subjects, too. The same goes for any of your school subjects or… extracurricular studies._

Harry took a moment to ponder that offer. Immediately, he knew it was one he would be taking advantage of. He had no idea if she was nearly as skillful with those branches of magic as she was with Occlumency, but she had been a once in a lifetime prodigy as a youth, so he thought his odds were quite favourable.

_I don't suppose you could give me a rundown on subskills for stage two Occlumency? _

_Certainly, _Emily answered promptly. _As you know, stage one of Occlumency was about understanding your own mind and being able to sense irregularities within it. Naturally, stage two is an extension of the first. In terms of the active Occlumency side of things, you are learning and will continue to learn to actually repel the directly harmful irregularities. _

_But the passive side of Occlumency is also an extension of level one as well. During stage one, you used meditation to understand the regularities and irregularities of your mind. You did this on a very broad, very general scope. In level two, you will dive deeper into the process of self-exploration. You will not only learn to recognize irregularities, but you will learn to read your own thoughts and emotions on a deeper level. You will learn to evaluate your own emotions accurately and clinically. _

_This is the first major step in stage two Occlumency. It is a subskill in and of itself, in a way, though it is not technically classified under that categorization. Without a very strong grasp on this concept, the wielding of other subskills within this field will be detrimental to your mental health and possibly your sanity._

Harry had to resist the urge to gulp. _Thanks for the warning, I guess. What are these subskills in level two, then?_

_To vastly oversimplify things as I usually do regarding the Mind Arts, the manipulation or outright suppression of one's emotions at any given time._

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

Yes, he could see why that could potentially be extremely dangerous if one's mind was not very well moderated before diving into the deep end attached to that particular pool.

He couldn't deny how useful that sounded, either.

It was definitely something he would be looking into as soon as possible.

_Building on the manipulation of one's own emotions, stage two is when you can begin implementing supplementary Occlumency._

Harry frowned. _I'm… not actually sure of what that means._

_I would not expect you to be. Are you aware of the impact intent has on your magic, and the ways that emotions can potentially be either useful or utterly counterproductive depending on the spell and the context in which it is used?_

Harry winced, remembering his conversation with Voldemort the year prior after he had blasted Nott with the most grossly overpowered boil hex one could dream of. _I am, yes. _

_Well, supplementary Occlumency makes the entire process almost trivial. In short, supplementary Occlumency is you manipulating your mind to have it rest in the perfect state for any given spell. For instance, if it is a spell that relies heavily on either intent, visualization, or a combination of the two, you can keep a mind that is void of everything except the intent or image that is required. This will greatly increase both the effectiveness and efficiency of the spell. For esoteric magic, you can actually force certain emotions to the surface, though that is more difficult to do. _

_Supplementary Occlumency also has the benefit of increasing the speed with which you can cast magic. This is most noticeable when casting in chained formats, but even for singular spells, you will channel the magic more quickly because your mind will already be in the necessary state with a mere thought. There will be no need for forceful manipulation, least of all once the necessary mental memory has been obtained._

Harry swore he could feel his ears perk up.

Now that… that was something he wanted very badly.

* * *

_**October 5, 1992**_

_**Malfoy Manor**_

_**10:43 AM**_

Lucius and Narcissa had a late breakfast that Monday morning. The previous day's Wizengamot meeting had gone far, far longer than expected as a result of heated discussion centring around proposed alterations to the Muggle Protection Act. As much as Lucius had been in favour of each and every proposed adjustment, it had still been rather irritating in the long run. It turned out that as the Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House, co-leader of the largest faction in the Wizengamot and owner of several major and countless minor businesses, his schedule was quite tight.

And even that did not account for other, miscellaneous activities and endeavours.

Needless to say, Lucius's entire day had been rattled as a result of the extended cluster of chaos that had been the meeting the day prior. For the rest of Sunday, he had essentially been running around like a wild chicken with its head cut off trying and for the most part failing to catch up on the day's events.

All in all, it had been a rather miserable day.

It could have perhaps been salvaged if their alterations to the blasted law had been passed, but the chaos had delayed the voting process even further. Forget about passing, they hadn't even had time to propose all of their counter ideas, let alone open a court wide vote on the matter. Some times, Lucius thought that Magical Britain was more chaotic now than when the Dark Lady had been at the height of her powers.

At least then, there had been one major faction in the country that was organized.

All of this chaos meant that Lucius had been up very late last night. Narcissa was naturally a late riser and was absolutely not a morning person. So for a rare morning, the two of them sat together at the immaculate table which dominated much of their more "casual" dining hall.

There had never been much love between Lucius and Narcissa. They got on and were more than cordial with one another. The two of them found the other attractive, which made things easier in a lot of ways, but in the end, their marriage had been a business proposition, and in large parts, it had been tainted as a result.

Perhaps that was another one of the reasons they rarely ate breakfast together whilst Draco was off at Hogwarts.

Just as Lucius raised a cup of tea to his lips, a loud crack emanated throughout the room. If not for very well-honed emotional control, Lucius may well have flinched and dropped the cup from the surprise. As it was, he just raised it to his lips, quirking a platinum brow and narrowing his eyes disdainfully at his least favourite of the filthy creatures who served him. He did not dignify the thing with a verbalized question. It understood his intent well enough.

"Your mail, Master Lucius, Mistress Ciss-Narcissa." Narcissa's eye twitched at the elf's slip up. There had been a time when the elf had called her Cissy. Probably because by that time, it had heard her sister, Bellatrix, call her that every time she was over. Seeing as Bellatrix was likely closer to Narcissa than anyone else, Lucius supposed the elf had tried to endear itself to his wife.

But such things were unacceptable.

An elf was to address its masters properly at all times. An elf was certainly not supposed to take nearly a year of harsh reminders before finally getting the point, either.

With a stiff nod, Lucius signified for Dobby to place the mail on the table.

It all appeared to be simple letters. Well, simple as in nothing interesting inside. Lucius was sure that the contents of each letter were likely anything but simple. The lone exception to this was not a large box by any means. In fact, it was one that Lucius had not expected. In spite of, and, he supposed, as a result of that fact, it was the package he was most interested in. Not least of all because of the way it had been wrapped. Clearly, whoever had wrapped it had done so in extreme haste. As if they had been desperate to send the thing off.

As suspicions started to race in Lucius's mind, he reached out a hand towards the largest package and pulled it towards him. With well-practiced precision, Lucius opened the package. At first, his eyes narrowed at the seemingly mundane contents. But then, when he read the note haphazardly stuck to the back of the book, his posture straightened at once.

"Narcissa," Lucius addressed his wife, "arrange for Bartemius and Bellatrix to join us tonight for dinner, will you?"

Narcissa tilted her head. "Of course, husband. Is there any particular reason why you suddenly seem so interested in their company?"

Lucius pondered how much to tell her, but decided for the truth, if not all of it. "Bartemius's knowledge of Charms is rather impressive. It's always a pleasure to… pick his brain on the subject."

* * *

_**Meanwhile, at the home of Rita Skeeter…**_

Rita's eyes bulged comically beneath her gem-encrusted glasses as her hands shook violently at the letter she clutched near her chest.

The contents of that letter were something to fear. Rita was a paranoid person. For many years, she had feared the truth of this situation coming to light. But now that said reality was bearing down fast upon her, Rita could not help but shake with nerves.

This could be damming, ruining even.

So ironic that the very candle that had helped further her career may well end up being the one that ended it.

* * *

_**October 7, 1992**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**7:46 PM**_

Yet again, Ginny found herself sitting at a desk in an abandoned classroom with her eldest Hogwarts attending brother. The two of them had made a sort of weekly habit of this since Ginny's sorting. This week, they'd spent much of the time with Percy helping Ginny with Transfiguration, which was by no means her best subject. The two of them had also talked about the rest of the family again.

By now, Ginny had received a number of letters from their mother. On the whole, she seemed entirely supportive. There were certainly numerous warnings about "not falling in with the wrong sort" and "making friends with the right kind of people", but her mother did not seem to think any less of her as a result of her sorting, which was a relief to Ginny. Her father had only written briefly, but he included some passages in her mother's letters. He was a busy man at the moment, what with the ongoing drama concerning the Muggle Protection Act. Even in the best of times, Arthur had never been overly fond of letters. He always preferred to do things in person, when possible.

Percy thankfully echoed her assumptions, assuring her that neither their mother nor their father held her sorting against her. Apparently, he had been in contact with Bill, and he too had seemed nonplussed by the whole event. Granted, as Percy put it, Bill was nonplussed by most things.

Finally, they came to the other Weasleys currently calling Hogwarts castle their home.

"I still haven't heard anything from the twins," Ginny said carefully, watching Percy's face for a reaction. There was definitely something in his eyes, but Ginny was not entirely sure what it meant.

"Their opinion hasn't changed, I don't think. They wish you were in Gryffindor like we all do, but they don't hold it against you. But again, the twins… well, they don't exactly deal with emotions well. They just resort to humour to get their point across and obviously, that's not going to work here. I actually don't think they know how to make heads or tails of the situation. I don't think they know how to approach you at all."

"What if I approached them instead?"

Percy paused. "I… think you would be in for a very awkward first few minutes of conversation until the ice broke. After that, all would be normal, I'd guess. They'd realize that they don't need humour to solve every problem, at least, which is a plus in my books."

Ginny snorted. "Why do I feel like you actually keep notebooks for all of the members of the family?"

"That seems like something you lot would do, no?" Percy asked teasingly, gesturing to the serpentine crest which adorned Ginny's robes.

Ginny sighed. "Probably, yeah."

"Still trouble in Slytherin, then?"

"You could say that, yeah. I… have people who are helping me. I don't really think we're friends, but they've been nice the whole time. If-if not for them, it would've been a lot harder."

"But?" Percy prompted, sensing that there was a catch that had not yet entered the equation.

"But the bigoted gits are still being gits," Ginny deadpanned. "Most of them just glare at me, but the odd one will mutter blood traitor when I'm walking near them. Travers still keeps going off on me every time Weitts isn't there. Honestly, the way she looks at Weitts, you'd think she's You-Know-Who."

"The younger one, you mean?"

"Charlotte, yeah."

"I… know her sister, a bit. Not well, but we're both Prefects and she's Head Girl this year. We've been in the same meetings for the last two years, and she runs the Prefect's meetings this year. I've always found her to be perfectly respectable. She's always treated me decent. We haven't spoken much, but she's never sneered at me or called me anything childish under her breath."

"Is that why you said I should try and make friends with her little sister?"

"It didn't hurt the idea," Percy admitted. "But I was just working with what you'd given me the first time we talked. It seemed like her and that friend of hers, Slater, were decent. The Slaters are… a bit shadier, at least in the Wizengamot."

"They're Conservatives, then?"

"They are, yes. Their seat isn't overly important though. They're not an Ancient House yet, even if they're going to become one sometime in the next few years. Lord Slater is fairly quiet at meetings, apparently. There have been rumours for years that they'd jump ship to the Neutrals, but they never have. Not yet, anyway."

"Well, Slater's getting pretty close with Weitts. Her family are the leaders of the faction, right?"

"Co-leaders, yes. They lead it alongside the Greengrass family. Weitts isn't an Ancient House either. They haven't been in Magical Britain for long at all, actually. Lord Weitts does have an Order of Merlin First Class award though, so the family gets a few extra seats because of that."

Ginny scrunched up her nose. The book on etiquette she had received courtesy of Charlotte had been very helpful thus far. Dry and monotonous to say the least, but helpful. Now, it appeared as if she may have to somehow get her hands on a book with some details about the Wizengamot and politics. She knew the basics, but they had never been schooled in detail. Her father didn't even use their seat to vote. Instead, Dumbledore served as their proxy.

"Has anybody been outright hostile towards you?"

Ginny hesitated but when Percy's stare intensified, she sighed. "Me and Weitts got jumped a week or so back. Thing is, I don't know if they were after me or her. She's… stirring things up in Slytherin, from what I can tell. I haven't figured it all out yet, but she's definitely ruffling some feathers."

Percy paused. "I… have a hard time believing they'd attack Grace Weitts's younger sister so openly. Unless she really did something to offend them."

Ginny shrugged. "As I said, I haven't figured it all out yet."

Percy sighed, glancing up at the clock. "Well, I'm going to have to make an exit right about now. There's a Prefect's meeting I need to be at in less than twenty minutes. Just… be careful, Gin. If you need anything, you know how to get a hold of me."

Minutes later, when Percy had exited the room, Ginny herself did likewise. She was unsure of what made her wait. Perhaps it was the fact that the classroom in which they'd occupied for all of their talks had become a sort of mental sanctuary for Ginny. It was a place away from the stress and drama of her house and the oppressive weight of their current workload. Or perhaps it was because she was just lost in thought.

More than likely, it was a combination of the two.

She certainly was lost in thought, for when she exited the room, she didn't even notice the figure walking up behind her. Not until she had been grabbed around the waist, hoisted into the air and slammed forcefully against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her and she would have slumped to the floor if not for the fact that the large, dark-haired girl's hands were making sure that she stayed upright.

Ginny tried to struggle, but this girl was much larger than her. She was equally as strong as she was hulking, and Ginny quickly realized that physical force was not going to be an option to get out of this situation.

That was until the large girl tried to lift Ginny into the air and press her against the wall with her feet off the ground, thereby rendering leverage as a completely unusable tool for Ginny to escape. As she did this, however, she had to switch her attention from pinning Ginny to lifting her. Clearly, the girl had no idea how physically outmatched the smaller Slytherin was. If she had, she certainly would not have given up her advantageous position in order to gain an extra edge when doing so was wholly unnecessary.

But Ginny wasn't complaining.

As soon as the girl's hands were occupied, Ginny lashed out. She didn't even make an attempt to throw a punch or any such nonsense. Instead, she jabbed each of her pointer fingers hard into the tall girl's eyes.

Immediately, she reared back, raising her hands to her face as she tried to regain her bearings. After a moment, she fumbled for her wand, but Ginny was faster.

"Mucum Disrumpat!"

Internally, Ginny thanked Charlotte for mentioning all those weeks ago that she should research jinxes, hexes and curses. Though her arsenal was still extremely limited, she had taken a liking to this one and proven to be rather adept at it. And now, it was coming in big.

After all, it was only natural to instantly flee when bats began to fly out of your nose and start forcefully bombarding you. To say that it was an unpleasant experience was doing the whole thing a serious injustice.

Nonetheless, within seconds, Ginny found herself in what she believed to be an empty corridor.

"You alright, Weasley?"

Ginny jumped. Obviously, the corridor was not as empty as she had thought. Leaning on the wall opposite her, looking completely at ease while twirling a dark wand through her fingers was Charlotte Weitts.

"W-Weitts?"

"I thought that much was obvious."

Ginny spluttered. "I… where… how… why didn't you…" Ginny was about to ask why Charlotte hadn't helped her. Then she remembered that for all of the kindness the youngest scion of House Weitts had shown her, they weren't truly friends.

"I only just stumbled into this corridor," Charlotte answered easily. "I'd just finished eating and was on my way to the library to do some extra studying. I heard some scuffling, a thud, and then decided I'd follow the sounds. When I saw that Bulstrode was attacking you, I took out my wand to curse her." Charlotte held it up as if displaying the point. "By the time I had it out, you had the situation under control." she shrugged. "Nice wand work, by the way. I wasn't sure if you would actually take my advice seriously or not."

"You-you were going to help me?"

Charlotte raised a delicate brow. "Is it that surprising to you?"

"No, sorry, I didn't mean it to be offensive or anything. I just… didn't think you cared."

Charlotte studied Ginny for a long period of time. Ginny actually shivered. Those bluish-silver eyes of hers were equal parts enchanting and intimidating. There was an ever-present glow in those eyes, as if something powerful and calculating was perpetually shining behind them.

After a time, Charlotte held out her hand, taking Ginny by surprise. "I guess I never did approach you. Charlotte Weitts, youngest daughter of House Weitts. It's nice to finally meet you formally, Ginny. I was wondering if you'd like to join Laine and I in the library?"

Thankfully, Ginny managed to pick her jaw up off the floor for long enough to shakily take Charlotte's outstretched hand and reply with her own sentiment.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in Rita Skeeter's office at the headquarters of the Daily Prophet…**_

Rita was more than mildly annoyed when her office door banged open suddenly, jolting her from her work. People did not just barge into her office. Not in the past number of years, at least. Scowling, she looked up to see exactly who may have done such a thing and paused at the man in front of her. He was unimportant, but he often carried messages from those of more importance than himself.

"Mr. Cuffe has a message for you, Ms. Skeeter," the man said politely, levitating a sealed roll of parchment onto her desk before taking his leave.

With worry and apprehension, Rita opened the roll of parchment and her eyes narrowed. In light of the rather panicking news this week had presented, she had suspected an invitation to meet with her old friend to discuss potential countermeasures. Instead, the only mention of the week's drama was a bit at the end that it was best if the two of them kept their distance. In his own words, there was no need to perpetuate the rumours that were inevitably going to leak sometime soon.

The true contents of the letter were far more interesting and less disturbing.

For the better part of two months, the _Prophet _had been hoping to score an exclusive, one-on-one interview with a high-up within the ranks of the Conservative faction. The reason for this desire was so that they could get an honest, no questions off limit take on the Muggle Protection Act. Now, more than ever, after the turbulent Wizengamot meeting that had transpired days earlier, old Barney was sure that the _Prophet _would be a top-seller.

Despite that desire, Rita had been fairly sure that no Conservative would agree to the meeting. If they did, what they said could potentially be used against them at a later date by the Liberals. Potentially, they could ascertain which counterpoints the Conservatives would be bringing forth in their ongoing attempts to make amendments to the bill.

But to her surprise, Rita would be meeting a Conservative representative on Sunday night at Summer Isles. Knowing the caution and composure the representative would likely bring, Rita thought that this was going to be quite a dull interview.

That's what her mind was telling her, at least.

Contrary to her mind, her instincts tingled. Something about this meeting was going to be anything but ordinary; Rita could practically sense it.

* * *

_**Two hours later, back at Hogwarts…**_

Ginny, Laine and Charlotte left the library after several hours of study. Charlotte was researching Transfiguration theory which was frankly beyond Ginny while the other two did homework. Charlotte had been tutored in magic for several years, so Ginny didn't take it too poorly when she realized just how far ahead of her the other girl was.

She was just in disbelief that she was there at all.

How was it that somehow, the youngest, least important member of a blood traitor family which was insignificant in comparison to the houses of Weitts and Slater managed to find herself in this position? She had certainly never dreamed of being even reluctantly included in a group like this. She could tell that Charlotte and Laine were a bit guarded around her, not quite welcoming her with open arms as of yet, but it was a massive step in the right direction.

Perhaps it would even keep Millicent Bulstrode and those like her away. Perhaps Evelyn Travers, as well. The girl seemed more than a little bit wary of Charlotte, so if nothing else, that would probably serve to aid Ginny going forward. Not that she could blame Travers, frankly. Charlotte had an intimidating air about her. Ginny wasn't afraid of her, per se, but she was certainly wary.

As for Laine, she walked to Charlotte's right, who stood in the middle, wondering how all of this had transpired and mentally readying her list of questions that she would ask Charlotte as soon as they wound up alone together.

And speaking of Charlotte, her mind was racing at a million miles an hour, connecting all the dots related to the drama of the year and seeing dozens of possible outcomes.

She had suspicions, but as of yet, she had no way of confirming them. For that, she would need to speak with some friends, something she immediately made her top priority as the three Slytherin first years entered the common room. Without hesitating, Charlotte led her two friends over towards Harry, Blaise, Tracey and… Parkinson. That one was new. Then again, maybe it wasn't. Harry hadn't been in the common room much at all in the past week. Not much at all since he had been attacked after Quidditch practice, actually.

Either way, this was the first time Charlotte had seen Parkinson sitting with the group. In response to the fact, she allowed her eyes to do a quick sweep of the common room, trying to find and identify Malfoy. It would be interesting to see his response to losing Pansy to Harry and his group of friends. Of course, Charlotte was well aware that Pansy had made the right decision. Even saying that, she was still curious about how the choice had come to be.

"Evening," Charlotte greeted as the three of them took seats. Harry tensed minutely, so lost in whatever project he had been working on that he had evidently failed to notice their arrival. The eyes of each second year roamed towards Ginny almost at once, some more discreetly than others. Tracey was the most obvious about it, followed by Pansy, who didn't look much like she was trying to hide it. Harry, Blaise and Daphne did so with a degree of swiftness and discreteness so high that Charlotte would not have noticed had she not been able to hear the curiosity resonating within them and having watched for it as a result of the fact.

"Evening," Harry muttered distractedly, flicking his eyes up towards Ginny one final time before he let them fall back on the mountain of papers in front of him.

"How was studying?" Daphne asked Charlotte, having inquired as to where she had been heading earlier that night.

"It went well, I think. I'm trying to work on Transfiguration. I'm easily the best in my year at Charms, but Black is just as good with Transfiguration, if not better."

Laine sniffed. "You can't be the best at everything, Charlotte."

"Tell him that," Daphne muttered, gesturing vaguely in Harry's direction. For his part, the raven-haired youth didn't even react to the comment.

"He wasn't top in Astronomy or History," Blaise said reasonably, as if that debunked Daphne's entire point.

"Only because he didn't care about one and didn't show up to the other," Daphne pointed out.

"Still don't," Harry said distractedly as his quill continued to scratch away on the parchment.

"But you'll still get O's in them," Tracey pointed out.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Hopefully."

Charlotte sniffed with a purposefully exaggerated amount of haughtiness. "He's not the best at everything, Daphne."

Daphne just raised an eyebrow as if in a challenge. Charlotte just smiled slightly back, like one would do if they were subtly letting their friend in on a dark secret. Harry's eyes flicked up towards Charlotte's and she swore she could see annoyance there. Clearly, he had ascertained that she had been referring to the Mind Arts. Briefly, Charlotte contemplated brushing his mind with Legilimency, but seeing as they were actually friends now, it might have been considered marginally immoral to do so.

"Look," Charlotte said with a smirk, "he's alive."

Harry rolled his eyes. "There were better ways you could have got my attention, you know. I would have stopped working if you'd just asked."

Charlotte continued to maintain her sweet, trademark smile. "Maybe, but what fun would that have been?" When Harry just rolled his eyes for a second time, Charlotte asked, "What is it you're working on, anyway?"

"Runes," Harry answered simply. "I'm trying to test how far I've actually come with the subject. There's… some specific stuff I'd like to do with them, and I'm trying to work it out. It's still a bit above my level, I think."

Charlotte nodded, deciding to humour Harry, who obviously wished for her to get to the point. "What do you all know about Millicent Bulstrode?" Beside her, Charlotte could feel Ginny tense. The youngest Weasley had still not said so much as a word, and Charlotte could tell the fact that she was bringing up Milicent to the older students after their altercation made her intensely uncomfortable. Charlotte briefly gave Ginny's knee a reassuring squeeze as she awaited the answers of the others.

Harry shrugged. "No idea why you wanted me for this. I literally know nothing except for her name, what she looks like and the fact that her family is one of the Sacred Twenty Eight and are part of the Conservative faction."

"I'm getting to that," Charlotte assured him, waving her hand dismissively as she glanced at Daphne.

The Greengrass Heiress shrugged. "Not much myself, actually."

"I know a bit," Pansy offered in a neutral tone, speaking up for the first time. When all of their eyes were trained upon her, she seemed to swell, as if bolstered by their attention. "She's sort of in no man's land with Lillian Moon. Draco, Theodore, Crabbe and Goyle make up one group from our year, while we obviously make up the other main group. Lillian and Milicent kind of rest in the middle. She's sat with us at meals before while I still hung around with Draco, but not often. She's quiet and mainly talks to Theodore when sitting with them.

"I think she would like to join up with that group, but she's too shy to say that and Draco doesn't care enough about her to bring her in." When all of the faces around her were showing varying degrees of surprise, Pansy suddenly looked indignant as she took _her_ turn to roll her eyes. "No need to look so surprised. I'm not just a pretty face, I'll have you know."

Blaise's mouth twitched in a manner that made it very obvious he wanted to say something. Charlotte caught Harry looking at Blaise out of the corner of his eye, and the son of the Italian House of Zabini said nothing. Harry could tell that whatever reason Charlotte had for bringing this up, she at least deemed it to be serious.

"That's all very interesting," Daphne said carefully, "but why do you want to know about Millicent Bulstrode?"

Charlotte paused, seeming to choose her next words with a high degree of caution. "There was an incident with her earlier today. It was dealt with, but I think she might be involved in… other incidents." Charlotte could practically sense the rise in curiosity from all of them, but Harry in particular. Despite that, his face did not change. "I just wanted to figure a bit more out, you know. See if I was just being paranoid, or if there's anything to be worrying about."

"And which one is it?" Harry asked softly, his eyes focusing completely on Charlotte for the first time during the conversation.

"I'm… not sure yet," she lied. In reality, she was fairly certain that Bulstrode was working for others. It made no sense why she would risk herself as an outcast to go after Ginny otherwise.

The problem was, who and why?

Before Charlotte could ponder on that for too much longer, an air of tension settled upon the group. The reasoning for this made itself evident moments later when a small cluster of students moved towards them. Charlotte quickly recognized the one in the lead by his platinum blond hair, cold grey eyes and pale, pointed face. Behind the Malfoy Heir trailed Theodore Nott, Ares Black and Benedict Cuffe, as well as Crabbe and Goyle.

"Excuse me," Draco said with what was obviously forced politeness, "but I think you should let Pansy up."

Finally, Harry's attention was completely torn away from his work as he met Malfoy'sgaze. Charlotte could practically feel the intensity oozing from her friend's every word.

"We're not keeping her here. She's free to leave at any time."

Perplexed, Malfoy looked from Harry to Pansy expectantly. When Pansy just raised an eyebrow at the blond, he quickly paled before flushing a shade of red that any of the Weasley contingent would likely have been proud of.

"You… you two-faced bitch!"

A hush fell over those in hearing range as Malfoy uttered the slur. Pansy's eyes widened and several of the girls looked stunned. As for Harry, his wand was in his hand in an instant as he shot to his feet, stepping forward and getting right in Malfoy's personal space. The blond may have been the taller of the two by several inches, but the air of danger that seemed to cling to Harry was more than enough to compensate for it. Charlotte saw Theodore hesitate as if to draw his wand, but Black's hand closed around his wrist, preventing that action.

"I told you in the changing rooms that was your last warning, Malfoy. This time, I mean it. This is your real last warning! Next time you insult one of my friends or throw out bigoted slurs, I'm going to completely and utterly ruin you."

For a moment, Draco looked as if he may respond. When he saw the look in Harry's eyes, he clearly thought better of it. As he took a step back, Harry stepped with him, keeping his wand firmly pressed against his throat. By now, the attention of the entire common room was on the two of them and Charlotte realized with some satisfaction that most of Slytherin House were about to watch Malfoy run from Harry with his tail tucked between his legs.

"Go!" Harry snarled, shoving Malfoy forcefully backwards, sending him bumping into Crabbe and Goyle, who had stood there, stunned as they watched the whole exchange.

Again, Theodore Nott looked murderous, but he was dragged out of the common room by the rest, who saw that retreating was their only option.

Harry scowled, quickly packing his things into his bag. "I'll be back," he muttered. "I need a walk. I'll never finish anything now."

"Harry!" Tracey called. "Curfew is about to-"

"I'll be fine, Tracey. Don't worry, when have I ever been caught?"

All in all, Charlotte thought as her magnetic eyes watched Harry leave the common room that she would summarize the night as one of very high intrigue.

* * *

_**October 11, 1992**_

_**Summer Isles in Diagon Alley**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Everything Rita had thought in regards to punctuality before she met with Daniel Shafiq was applicable once more tonight. She would have loved to try to portray herself in the position of power by showing up late, but again, she knew it was not an option.

For one thing, she was not here on a personal level, but under the employ of the _Daily Prophet. _For another, no matter how much she wished it was the case, she was not the one with the power in this situation.

Rita hadn't been told who it was she would be meeting. That was expected and a fairly typical move in the political arena. Rita did not need to know who she was meeting to know that she would be the lesser power in the room. Whoever the Conservatives were sending as a representative, it would be somebody high up in their ranks. Given the vast number of prestigious families whose allegiance lay firmly within the folds of that particular faction, that was enough for Rita to make a correct assumption on the matter.

Building on that point, there was also the small issue that several members of the faction had rather questionable morals. Some of them had extremely murky pasts. Some dark reputations may have been unwarranted. Others, Rita suspected to be understated. Others still, she knew to be fabricated completely.

Moral of the story — it would be a very bad idea for Rita to piss off whoever she was meeting at Summer Isles.

As she neared the room reserved for them right on time, Rita only had two hopes for this interview that, by all estimations, was likely set to be profoundly dry.

The first of them was that whoever was meeting her wasn't a prick and didn't make her wait for thirty minutes just to flex their muscles and flash their prestige.

The second was that whomever they had sent, it was not one of the few people who she knew to be outright upset with her at the moment. Though she had to admit as she stepped towards the door that would lead her into the room, that would be a rather clever scheme…

And a rather clever scheme it was.

When Rita was led into the room by their well-dressed waiter, she had a moment of pause when she saw the scene laid out before her.

To her surprise, she was not the first to arrive.

To her dismay, the person who had arrived before her was somebody who was undoubtedly not pleased with her, to put it kindly.

"Good evening, Ms. Skeeter," Lord Lucius Malfoy greeted her with a perfect air of politeness as he stood gracefully from his chair to greet her further and more formally. Rita, rather tense given the fact that by now, she suspected the worst, allowed herself to be led through the motions and eventually into her chair. Before she knew it, the waiter had taken their respective orders and left them alone.

"Allow me to clear the air, Ms. Skeeter," Lucius said promptly, noticing exactly the way her eyes anxiously darted around the room. "I am not pleased with you, nor the slander of my family at your hands. But tonight, I am here on business. A true businessman is always able to put their personal prejudices aside in favour of more productive actions. You have nothing to worry about. Not when business is ongoing."

Rita looked hard for a lie but couldn't spot one. Of course, she was not foolish enough to believe one might not exist. She was rather perceptive, but if there were any in Magical Britain with the ability to fool her, the political mastermind known as Lucius Malfoy might well have sat right atop the list. For now, however, she had little choice but to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm glad, Lord Malfoy," Rita said with a smile. "After all, you of all people should know that my articles don't always reflect my views. It's all about perception, as you very well know."

For an infinitesimally small amount of time, Rita could have sworn she saw something predatory in Lucius's cold grey eyes. It happened so fast that by the time it had seemingly passed, Rita was certain her paranoia was acting up again.

"Of course, Rita, I know you very well." He paused. "It isn't too forward of me to address you as Rita, I hope?"

"Not at all, Lord Malfoy."

"Excellent."

Rita noticed how he did not offer her the courtesy in return. Despite his seemingly civil demeanour, it was very obvious that the power dynamic which Rita had pondered was being established with pinpoint precision on the man's part.

Speaking of Lucius, he leaned forward slightly and folded his hands in his lap in what Rita thought was a rather dignified pose. "Well, we are here on business, which waits for no witch or wizard. Time is money, Rita. I'm told you're here to ask me some questions. I'm here to answer them; so ask away."

"Well, of course, we're here to speak on the Muggle Protection Act. The Conservatives have been very vocal in their opposition to this act. What is it in particular that you as a faction find unacceptable? Is it the act itself? Its implications? The idea of protecting muggles?"

"In the context which is important, it's none of the above," Lucius answered smoothly. "I'll never claim to be an advocate of muggle rights, but I don't make it my life's mission to sabotage their lives either. For those who have… doubts on that front, you're more than welcome to look into the dozen or so public records that pertain to attempted raids on my family home. Of course, Arthur Weasley and the HIT wizards found nothing, because there is nothing to hide.

"Truly, that is our point, Rita. We have no doubt that the goal of the Liberal faction with this act was… admirable, but the execution was sloppy and mishandled. The act was written by Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Naturally, Arthur could have only gained from these arrangements. I do believe he gets paid bonuses for major successes. Raiding a family's home to find artifacts in violation of a major bill of law would certainly qualify. It is this and… other, deeper reasons that we believe he made sure to write several loopholes in his bill."

"What loopholes, Lord Malfoy?"

"For one, the criteria on who can and cannot be searched is nonexistent. The vague criteria which are given contradict itself. This effectively allows Arthur Weasley, in his position over the department responsible for the maintenance of this new law, the ability to search wherever he pleases whenever he chooses. We feel that the bill unjustly violates the rights of the fine citizens of this wonderful nation. Furthermore, we believe it to be a blatant abuse of power on Arthur Weasley's part." Lucius's lip curled. "Of course, that is saying nothing of the loopholes in place to protect him. The loopholes which allow you to illegally enchant muggle artifacts. Like cars, for instance."

The interview went on as their food arrived. Its pace slowed down as they ate their meal, but it continued nonetheless. Despite her previous anxiety, all nerves were gone now. The troubles of the past week had been all but forgotten for Rita. This was a safe place for her. Conducting this kind of business was second nature to her by now, and she had room for no other thoughts in her mind.

When they had finished their respective meals, the interview proceeded for about ten minutes before finally wrapping up. Before they could depart, the waiter entered once more, carrying what appeared to be two covered plates. They seemed to be very large, evidently heaping with whatever dessert was underneath. The waiter quietly set both of them down on the table and left the room once again, leaving Lucius and Rita alone in the room with the two plates and their heavy, wrought silver coverings.

Rita had no idea how dessert coverings could be ominous, but these managed it.

"Care to do the honours, Rita?" Lucius asked, gesturing towards the plate nearest to her. "My treat, of course. The business may have been concluded, but I see no reason to waste." Rita reached forward and removed the oddly heavy covering.

Only to gasp at what was underneath.

Instead of any dessert, Rita pulled the large covering off to reveal a large, golden plate. What rested atop the plate was what was odd, however.

The odd, intricately carved basin was impossible to miss.

Rita stared open-mouthed from Lucius to the pensieve, as the man leaned forward, the predatory gleam in his eyes now more than obvious.

Rita's paranoia had been right to flare up.

This had been a trap all along. She had never imagined anything at all.

"Don't leave, Rita," Lucius hissed in a soft, dangerous tone of voice. "I think you are going to want to hear what I say before you leave. Otherwise, I don't think you will like what happens."

"L-Lord Malfoy," Rita stuttered, "what-what is the meaning of this?"

"I was nothing but honest with you, Rita. I told you that while business was ongoing, you had nothing to fear. Unfortunately for you, the business has concluded."

Lucius's smile only grew smugger as he slipped his wand from his sleeve and gently prodded the surface of the silvery substance that swam within the confines of the basin.

Immediately, an image rose to the surface, one that made Rita's eyes widen with shock, confusion and terror.

Rita's gasp was audible as two figures rose from the pensieve.

The first was John Doe, who had been found deceased just outside his home in Knockturn Alley just over a week ago. As of yet, his cause of death was unconfirmed. The paper had only run a brief article on his passing. It had been more of a memorial piece as opposed to gossip, so naturally, Rita hadn't written it.

The only thing that surprised Rita more than seeing the now dead John Doe was seeing the other figure.

Herself.

Which made absolutely no sense.

She had never met John Doe in Knockturn Alley. Of that, she was certain.

"_Rita?"_ the figure of John Doe asked, clearly surprised.

"_Good evening, John,"_ the other figure which looked so much like Rita but couldn't be Rita answered. Her voice was spine-tinglingly neutral. One might even go as far as to categorize its tones as clinical.

"_What brings you to Knockturn Alley, Rita. For some reason, I didn't peg you for the type?"_

"_Just taking care of business, John,"_ the had-to-be imposter purred with a smile so predatory it put Lucius's rendition to shame. Then, to Rita's shock and horror, her doppelganger had a wand trained on John Doe.

And to her even greater horror, the next two words to leave her mouth rendered the true Rita Skeeter completely and utterly speechless.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The pair sat in complete silence for more than two minutes as Lucius watched Rita like a cat might watch a dying mouse. For her part, half of Rita's mind was trying to figure out what had just happened and how to respond. The other half of her was trying to decide whether or not she was having a heart attack, as the organ in question seemed to be putting in a valiant effort to free itself of its prison.

"I… but… I never… what… how… you can't prove-"

"The 'how' is quite easy, Rita. Expensive, but easy. You see, I could not have my family name be slandered. It was very costly, you know. It caused any stock I was associated with to drop quite dramatically and it was an unacceptable blight on the Malfoy family name. Now, perhaps, I may have let this slide. Unfortunately, I recognize the power of the media more than most. I truly appreciate the damage a talented reporter can do. So, I decided that having one who was rogue was a risk I could not take.

"I employed a lowlife thief whom I have worked with before to watch you. He did an admittedly stellar job at tailing you and observing your patterns. You're rather conspicuous, Rita. There wasn't a whole lot to work with." He paused. "Except for one thing, of course, but we will circle back to that in time.

"Unfortunately, you were too clever to alert the thief as to any blatant wrongdoings on your part. That would not be due, would it? A suspicious sense of paranoia is hardly something that you would fear if used against you. So, the thief concocted a plan to artificially create a situation that would land you in a great deal of trouble. His proposal was good, if expensive. After all, Polyjuice potion does not come cheap. I modified his plan. Firstly because if he had been your date at Summer Isles as he had planned, this whole thing would have gone up in flames. Secondly, because I have connections who were willing to do more than petty crimes while wearing your skin. From there, it was only a matter of getting your hair.

"With how dry the news has been lately, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist a good scoop. Daniel Shafiq is an old friend of mine, and we agreed that a business transaction between the two of us could be mutually beneficial. I confess I expected better from you, Rita. According to Daniel, you didn't so much as react as he ripped the hair from your head."

Lucius was definitely smirking now as Rita paled further. "This-this isn't proof!" Rita argued. "I didn't do it! Priori Incantatem will show as much!"

"Indeed it would, if your wand was tested soon after. You forget, Rita, that Prior Incantato only reveals spells cast in the past number of hours. Though I could manufacture documents from abroad which show that you purchased a second wand days before this incident occurred. A wand that has been conveniently discarded for reasons that I hope for your sake are obvious."

Rita paled even further as she clapped her hand over her heart.

This was it.

If this memory played in court and Lucius's paperwork stood up to the test, she would go to Azkaban for life.

"What's the matter, Rita? You're looking rather faint. Was the first encore not to your liking? How about the second of our delectable desserts?"

With a flourish, Lucius removed the second covering and Rita gasped, rocking back in her chair as if she were about to faint.

"It looks familiar, doesn't it?" Lucius purred, lifting the small, black journal from off of the golden plate. "A clever way to communicate. Very discrete, too." His smirk widened. "But then again, I'd be discrete in your position as well. Especially while writing to my bastard son."

Rita was hyperventilating now as panic wracked her body and her whole world came crashing down around her.

Not only had she just been framed for murder, but her biggest, most damning secret had been uncovered after eleven long years.

"Again, childishly easy to work out," Lucius retold clinically. "You see, my acquaintance noticed that you spent quite a lot of time at the Cuffe residence. An unusual amount of time, even considering that Lord Cuffe is your superior. So naturally, I was curious. I had Draco befriend Benedict in hopes that he would be able to uncover something interesting. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that with the help of some first years spying for him and some older students who were more than happy to lend a hand, he would uncover this.

"A journal between yourself and the youngest son of House Cuffe. A journal dating back several years. But the most mind-boggling thing of all was how young Benedict seems to always refer to you as 'mother'. How strange, when one considers that at the time of Benedict's birth, Barnabus Cuffe was married. Even more peculiar, when one considers that allegedly, the boy's mother died during childbirth."

Lucius leaned even further forward, locking eyes with Rita with a startling amount of intensity. "Here is my ultimatum. From now on, as far as the public is concerned, your boss is Barnabus Cuffe, editor and majority stakeholder of the _Daily Prophet. _But as far as reality is concerned, you work for me."

With genuine tears rolling down her pale cheeks, Rita nodded. "And secondly, you will tell me at once exactly how Benedict Cuffe came to be, as well as exactly how his supposed mother died."

"It-it-"

"Speak up, Rita. I can't hear you. I know it's hard, but for your son's sake, I would answer promptly and clearly."

"I was young and stupid!" Rita wailed. "I was pushing through the war, trying to write article after article but nothing was helping. I wasn't getting recognized and I was lost in the shuffle." She paused, taking deep, rattling breaths as she tried to suppress the involuntary sobs that threatened to wrack her body. "I saw the way that Barnabus looked at the younger women. I… saw it as my best chance to get to the top. My best chance to be put in the best position. It… was never meant to be serious, but… it escalated."

"I see," Lucius said softly. "And how, Rita, did the false mother truly die?"

"We-we panicked. When I was p-p-pregnant, w-w-we were so worried that somebody would find out what had happened. Y-you know what that would mean."

"Cheating on one's sworn spouse is one of the lowest things a witch or wizard can do. In terms of public perception, it is on par with being disowned from your given family."

Rita nodded as sobs wracked her body. She took a moment to compose herself and do her best to calm as Lucius watched on coldly and without emotions. Finally, after a time, the reporter was speaking again.

"We were-were so s-s-scared! If they found out… if anyone found out. B-B-Barney had the idea to h-have the baby abroad, to set it up as a vacation." Rita took a long, rattling breath. "His wife never died giving childbirth. She died before we left. I… had the couple over at my home. To d-d-discuss a possible p-p-promotion. I p-p-put aconite in her drink."

"And the foreign nation in which you gave birth knew nothing of either of you. So naturally, they accepted your given names without complaint?"

With a soft wail of emotion, Rita nodded despite herself, allowing her head to sag onto the table in front of her.

As she did so, Lucius pushed back his chair, stood to his feet and summoned the pensieve to his grasp once more. "I shall endeavour to purchase you a new book out of pity," Lucius told Skeeter in a terribly smug tone of voice as he snatched the one on the table up and stowed it away in his robes. "I would advise you to purchase your son a trunk that is warded far better than the one he has now." Rita's sobs grew louder. "I must be off, Rita," Lucius said cheerfully, his lips curving up into a smirk. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you and I look forward to a long, pleasant working relationship between us."

* * *

**Author's Endnote **

**This is an absurdly long AN, but it was necessary to clear up some things from the last chapter. Apologies for the length but if you were one of the people attempting to point out plot holes, I encourage you to read this.**

**There are some things I need to clear up that couldn't be cleared up in chapter, since both characters are well aware of all of this..**

**First and foremost, let's address the concerns that the pensieve laws create plot holes. They really don't.**

**Let's start with this scene specifically as an example. Could Skeeter have just shared the memory of the meeting?**

**In short, no, but here is all the reasons why:**

**A pensieve is only permitted to be used in court if the would-be user's claim is deemed valid first by the court itself prior to the trial. This would not happen in Rita's case one, because at this point, she would already be looked at as a murderer and two, because Lucius controls a majority of the Wizengamot. Same for other trials, really.**

**A pensieve can only be used if the court thinks your claim is plausible. This is because the process for using a pensieve is a pain, which I will now get into in order to close the other plot hole everybody keeps bringing up. One more note on Rita specifically, however. She would be accusing a high-ranking member of society of a claim that most would view as outrageous. And even if they did accept her memory, which would never happen for the reasons I have already outlined, it would also show that she murdered Barnabus Cuffe's ex-wife, since the entire interaction would need to be included in the memory.**

**Memories can be altered, but to do so without making it blatantly obvious requires a high amount of skill in mind magic that most people simply do not possess. Also, one of the reasons using a pensieve in court is done so sparingly is because it is both logistically challenging and obscenely expensive.**

**Before the memory is accepted by the court, it is subject to a verification process conducted by the Department of Mysteries. During this process, they will verify to ensure that no alterations have been made, and let's just say they are very good at their job. This process is ridiculously expensive and it must be independently funded, so that alone prices out most people. Also, glamours would show up as an alteration, because they would trigger an unnaturally high concentration of magic in a given area. Polyjuice would not, but it is extremely expensive to purchase, as are the ingredients required to brew it.**

**This is a very flawed process, I am not arguing that. That is the entire point. It's not meant to be a fair, effective system. This is a country controlled by the corrupt, who seek any advantage they can get. This entire process screams of disadvantaging those of lower standing, but in my opinion, it does not open plot holes.**

**I am sorry for the absurd length of this AN, but I wanted to speak on this now, and I do not plan to do so again.**

**Oh, and I did not forget about Metamorphmagery. That is a whole other can of worms in general that I will be opening quite a bit later.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, September 19th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord editors for their assistance this week:**

**Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	33. SS Ch 15: The Gods of Irony

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. **

**If you'd like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 15: The Gods of Irony**

* * *

_**October 15, 1992**_

_**The Gryffindor Changing Rooms**_

_**7:41 PM**_

Fred and George Weasley exited the Gryffindor changing rooms side by side, their Cleansweeps slung over their shoulders and their damp red hair tousled. The two of them were clearly running on high energy, discussing some rather hilarious prank ideas for the Halloween feast. This was not out of the ordinary, but the general absurdity and hyperbole on display in their brainstorming sessions were both exacerbated by the energy and adrenaline that accompanied the conclusion of a well-played, lively practice that left the team's morale unanimously high.

As the two of them began to make their way up towards Hogwarts castle, neither of them noticed the slightest shimmer as the youngest member of the house team shifted under his invisibility cloak, revealing part of his hand for only the briefest of moments.

Silently, Charlus Potter began to follow the twins back up towards the castle.

If they were on this kind of roll talking about pranks, it was highly possible that the two of them would let something slip in regards to the prank they'd more than likely pulled on the Slytherin Quidditch team. One of whose members just happened to be Charlus's twin.

If the two of them were going to reveal anything about that entirely over-the-top fiasco, he wanted to be there to hear every last word of it.

* * *

_**October 17, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:37 AM**_

Harry quietly slid his most recent bit of mail into his school bag about halfway into that Saturday's breakfast. This morning, he was sitting with Daphne, Blaise, Tracey, Pansy, Laine, Ginny and Charlotte. His older acquaintances were not overly fond of the idea of getting up early to venture out to the Great Hall. Neither was Pansy, for that matter, but she was there nonetheless

"Anything interesting?" Blaise asked conversationally, bobbing his head towards the school bag which Harry was sliding back under the table.

"Invitation for the Weitts's Samhain gala," Harry answered, shooting a quick glance in Charlotte's general direction. She nodded curtly, offering him a brief smile between bites of an egg. "Give your parents my thanks," he requested, eliciting another nod in return since her mouth was currently full.

"Hopefully nobody gets bitten by a snake this time," Daphne muttered under her breath, casting her eyes around the hall.

Harry had always wondered how much of that incident Daphne had pieced together. He had always suspected that the answer was something akin to "not much". After all, during the setup of his Samhain escapades, she had been politicking on the floor for her family. Well, perhaps politicking was not the most accurate term when discussing an eleven-year-old. Perhaps more accurate terminology would be to say that she was acquainting and reacquainting with important people who she would one day have to work with, in one capacity or another.

The fact she also didn't look at Harry as she spoke her desires for this year's event could also have been telling. Then again, knowing Daphne, she probably would have looked anywhere but at Harry if verbally reflecting on things that could have implicated him in one way or another.

"I'm sure it made things interesting," Blaise offered diplomatically. Ginny, who had been in conversation with Laine, seemed to stumble over her words as she inadvertently caught that chunk of conversation. Obviously, she was not yet accustomed to Blaise's humour, which was akin to the Sahara Desert in the middle of July.

"You're forgetting the fact that it was disgraceful," Pansy said. "For one of the major social events of the year to have a scandal like that is madness!"

Harry could have sighed. More political discussions, it seemed. That had been almost all anybody in Slytherin had talked about for the past four days.

On October 13th, the _Daily Prophet _released an article on the Muggle Protection Act. In particular, a Conservative perspective on the matter. Partially, this was unusual because nobody had ever expected the Conservatives to speak publicly on the ongoing drama surrounding said bill outside of Wizengamot meetings. Even more so, the article was surprising due to the rapid shift in tone that Skeeter had employed. Up to this point, she and the rest of the _Prophet's _writers had been, for the most part, complimentary of the bill.

This article, on the other hand, was akin to slander.

Anything that could be picked out and used against the Liberals was done so ruthlessly, and much of the snake pit had been more than a little bit curious as to what had made Rita Skeeter suddenly shift her tone so drastically. It went without saying that none of them had the answer to that question.

Blaise shrugged. "Got everybody out early."

"Your family never did find out what happened, did they?" Pansy asked Charlotte, turning away from Blaise, who she obviously realized would never agree with her no matter what point she raised. It seemed that at least Pansy was grasping the group dynamic quite quickly. Blaise shot a wink towards Harry when she looked away. On the list of Blaise's favourite things to do, annoying prim, proper, pureblood heiresses would have been right near the top, if Harry had to guess.

"We never did, no," Charlotte said neutrally. "Mother and Father launched an investigation, but nothing turned up. We would've had to cast Prior Incantato on everybody's wands after the party to find out for sure."

"Which you obviously didn't do! That would've been a logistical nightmare!"

"Trust me, my parents considered it. We almost didn't hold an event this year, but my mother talked father into it. There will be more… attention to detail this year."

Luckily, Harry had no major schemes planned this year. This time around, he was simply going to attend for the experience and to potentially make allies. It would be far less stressful this way, he assumed. Granted, his plan had been successful last year. Well, except for the major injury sustained by Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That had certainly not been part of the plan. Idly, Harry wondered how the man had recovered. He'd never heard anything about him after that, though in all fairness, he had never exactly looked into the matter.

"I'm happy your family is still holding one," Pansy said matter-of-factly. "It would've been such a shame if such a major event was cancelled because of something so foolish as some idiot conjuring a snake."

"A bit off-topic," Harry interrupted unapologetically, observing that Charlotte had no interest in continuing this rather sensitive conversation, "but why would asking everybody to submit to Prior Incantato have been a nightmare? Aside from the time it would have taken, obviously."

Pansy, not being aware of Harry's situation, looked intensely surprised by his question. Charlotte, on the other hand, did not. Nor did Daphne, who swiftly entered the conversation to answer Harry's question.

"You can't just force someone to submit to Prior Incantato. Wand rights aren't something that's talked about, but they exist. A witch or wizard's wand is their property. You don't have the right to take it from them. Not unless you can prove they've done something." She shrugged. "Or in a duel, I guess. That's kind of looked at as an exception since it's your own fault. The same goes for checking wands."

"It's also a serious invasion of privacy," Charlotte pointed out. "It's the kind of thing people would throw a fit over. I don't honestly blame them, but Father still wanted to make it mandatory. It's a bit of a grey area since it was on our property. Technically, we probably could have done it, but it would have caused an uproar."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. It made sense, even if it seemed a bit vague. Knowing the magical world the way he'd come to know it, there were probably loopholes like the duelling one written all over that law.

* * *

Twenty-some odd minutes later, the group departed from the table. Charlotte and her year mates were all returning to the common room to finish prep while Daphne, Tracey, Blaise and Pansy were going to do likewise in the library. Harry, who had finished it the night before, was going to work on spell casting, but he had something to do first.

Wishing his friends a fruitful session of study, Harry quickly and quietly crept through the antechamber off the Great Hall and slid through the same, secret passage he'd led Blaise, Tracey and Daphne down their first night back at Hogwarts. Less than two minutes later, he reached the end of the passage that would deposit him very near to the Slytherin common room. Focusing on his ring, Harry tried to detect any presence nearby. There were none, at the moment. That fact changed minutes later when Charlotte, Laine and Ginny's voices could be heard.

As they drew near, Harry considered his options. What would be the best way to get Charlotte's attention, without drawing that of the others? Eventually, he settled for trying to think as "loudly" as possible that he would like to speak with her. Whether this would actually work, he had no idea. It must have at least had a small degree of success, because Charlotte paused near where the passageway ended. A second or two later, she was telling her friends she had forgotten something back in the hall, insisting that they go on ahead.

When they left, Charlotte cast her eyes around the seemingly empty corridor, though Harry, currently behind a tapestry depicting a scene filled with serpents couldn't see her. "I know you're here," Charlotte said clearly.

On cue, Harry slid the tapestry aside and stepped into the corridor. Charlotte's eyebrows rose. "Out of curiosity," Harry asked, "did you actually know it was me?"

"I kind of figured it was, but I couldn't actually tell, no. I knew somebody was hiding somewhere even before you started to basically project your thoughts. I couldn't tell what you were thinking at first, or anything, but I could sort of tell that there was an extra active mind nearby, if that makes sense."

"It does," Harry answered truthfully. Though the feeling was likely different, his ring alerted him to any nearby human presence. Charlotte may have experienced something on a deeper level, but he imagined the feeling was probably similar.

"Where does that passage start, anyway? I didn't even know that was there."

"Most people don't, from what I can tell. It's behind a portrait in the antechamber off the Great Hall. One of the more useful passages I've found. Cuts quite a bit of time off of the walk down to the common room."

Charlotte tilted her head. "Why do I feel like this isn't the only passage you know of?"

"Probably because it isn't."

"How many others?"

He shrugged. "Enough."

"You and your vague answers."

"You and your constant questions."

In spite of herself, Charlotte smiled. "You've got me there, I suppose." She paused. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"I did, but not here. I'll show you one of those secret passages since it will make the walk to a sort of hidden room of mine much faster."

Minutes later, Harry had led Charlotte through the long, sloping passage behind the suit of armour at the bottom of the marble staircase that led to the room he frequented with her elder sister for practices. Almost as soon as they exited from the passage, Charlotte tensed. "What is it?" Harry asked, frowning as his ears practically perked up, trying to gain a sense of any danger they might be in.

"Wards. I have no idea what they are, but I can sense magic and I can tell that they're wards."

Harry blinked. "How?"

"I have many talents, Harry."

"Is it a Legilimency thing?"

"It is, yes. It's a subskill of Legilimency. Right now, I can only sense that there is magic and tell that it has something to do with wards. Eventually, I'll be able to tell what kind of ward it is. Maybe not exactly, but at least the general idea of each ward."

"There are subskills to Legilimency as well then? I'm assuming it's a seven-tiered system like Occlumency?"

"Yes to both," Charlotte answered as they neared the entrance of the room. When they entered, her eyes roamed over the place with intense curiosity. She eyed both the desk, comfortable chairs and training dummies with interest, as well as the magical lighting. "Did you set all of this up?"

"No, I have no idea how to conjure any of this." He had been about to use his default line that he'd found the room like this, but he doubted he could get away with outright lying to Charlotte. She would probably be able to tell. If he kept quiet, she might not ask.

"Odd," she commented, casting one last, final look around the room before plopping down into one of the comfortable-looking armchairs. When Harry too took his seat, Charlotte spoke first. "Is this about what you came to me over last time?"

"They might be connected, I'm not sure. But it's nothing like that on my end, no. I still think you should consider what I said, but I can't exactly force you to listen. If you want to take the risk, that's your problem." It was also his problem, but Harry didn't get the impression that Charlotte would be pleased if she found out he was essentially watching her back on behalf of her sister. She seemed proud, so Harry kept that fact to himself.

Charlotte looked pleased, if a bit surprised. "I have listened," she commented. "I've toned it down if you haven't noticed."

"I have, and I'm thankful for that. I just hope you didn't do too much damage right away. From what I can tell, Slytherin is the house of cunning, ambition and holding grudges."

Charlotte laughed. "I seriously hope it didn't take you a year and a month to figure that out."

"It didn't, I'm just sharing what I've observed."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Care to share any more of your wisdom, oh wise one?"

Harry's lips twitched. "Depends where this conversation goes."

Charlotte sighed and folded her hands in her lap, peering back at him with wide, curious eyes. "You know, I'm not going to Legilimize you every time you look at me," Charlotte pointed out, noticing that Harry was avoiding her gaze.

"You can control it now, then?"

"Almost completely, yes."

Harry paused, trying to best work out how to say this. "I… don't appreciate people in my head. I think we get on well, and I am happy you're in Slytherin, but I really don't like the idea of you being able to look into my thoughts whenever you please."

Charlotte winced. "I guess we didn't get off on the best foot with that, did we?"

"The first three times we met, you Legilimized me every time."

Charlotte winced again. "I… don't really have much regard for strangers."

"I've noticed."

"I won't Legilimize you, especially if it really bothers you. The only reason I did it in the common room earlier this year was because I was worried you were an older student who was going to jump me or something."

"That's a fair reason," Harry admitted. "If it's something like that, I won't take it personally. But I would really appreciate it if you didn't make a habit of doing it."

Charlotte agreed readily but did so with a rather coy smile. "I don't suppose I can try once every couple of months with something really light to work out whether or not you have 'shields'?"

Harry frowned. "I was… told there were no such things as Occlumency shields."

"There aren't, hence the air quotes. It's just kind of what they're called for lack of a better term. Eventually, you'll get so good at clearing your mind as soon as you sense a presence that your mind will sort of do it for you. That's what I mean by 'shields'."

Harry nodded slowly; that was certainly good information to have. "Is there a particular reason why you're so interested in my Occlumency progress?"

"Not really. I just like to keep informed. And since I'm kind of the one who put you onto Occlumency in the first place, I sort of feel invested."

"I could always just tell you."

"You could, but that way isn't as fun."

"Are you actually curious, or do you just need me as a test dummy?"

"I wouldn't use my friends for practice without their permission."

Harry decided not to comment on the implications of that statement. Partially because of their moral ambiguity, and partially because he could also see himself attempting to Legilimize strangers if he could be sure that they weren't any sort of Occlumens.

"I'd really rather you weren't in my head at all, to be honest."

"Fine, if it bothers you that much, I won't. I just find the whole thing interesting. You do realize that whoever is teaching you is going to have to be in your head at some point if they haven't tried already, right?"

"I've worked with blunt probes that don't actually glean anything aside from surface thoughts, so far."

"Eventually, they're going to have to actually try and pull out memories."

Harry had to try hard not to wince or shiver, even if that fact was one he had known about for some time now. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"Right," Charlotte commented skeptically, "well, I'm guessing you didn't drag me all the way down here to talk about Occlumency and Legilimency? If you did, don't waste your time on the walk. I'll happily talk about that any time; just use that privacy spell and ward of yours."

"Sorry, I got a bit side-tracked. I haven't looked into Legilimency yet, since I need a base in Occlumency first. But no, I didn't ask you to come down here to talk about the Mind Arts. Last week in the common room, you asked about Millicent Bulstrode. You said there was an… incident involving her."

"It wasn't technically involving me," Charlotte said carefully, but the tone of her voice indicated otherwise. Or, at least, it indicated that she was not one-hundred percent confident in that assessment.

"You don't sound convinced."

Charlotte bit her lip. "I'm not convinced, to tell you the truth."

"I don't suppose you're going to explain what happened?" Harry asked after an unnaturally long pause.

Charlotte seemed to study him. "If I do, can you promise not to go running to my sister about it? Or Daphne; I have a feeling she'd be just as bad."

Harry paused. "If it's something like the dragon incident was for me last year, I can't promise that. But I doubt it's like that, or I'd have heard about it already."

"It's nothing like that, no. Just first-year drama. Aside from Bulstrode, I guess. she is in her second year."

"Was that a yes to telling me then?"

"Was that a yes to keeping your mouth shut about it?"

"Sure, as long as you promise to at least listen to my perspective on it."

"Harry, I brought it up in the common room literally hoping you'd give me your perspective on it."

Harry blinked. "I… did not expect that answer."

"Why not?"

"You don't seem the type to go out of your way to ask for other's opinions. You're extremely confident, almost to the point that it seems as if you think you're better than those around you."

Charlotte stiffened ever so slightly. "That was… a much deeper answer than I expected."

Harry shrugged. "Just an observation. I'm not saying it's right, it's just how you come across, sometimes."

"Well, let's clear that up right now. I don't think I'm better than you. I'm much better than you at certain things, like the Mind Arts, and I know things about the magical world that you don't know because of how you were raised. But you're much better at magic than me, at least for now. That might never change, but I try to never count myself out. I doubt I'll ever catch you in Transfiguration. Probably not in Defence, either, but maybe Charms. Either way, you're better than me at magic and you might always be. You're also extremely good at reading situations. I might be better at reading people because of Legilimency, but it seems like you can read a situation extremely well.

"I might come off like that sometimes, but I guess it's just how I am. I was always taught to act confident. Even if the confidence is overdone, the trick is to get other people believing what you're putting out. Not that I don't believe in myself, because trust me, I do." She paused. "I'm also… overdoing the confidence right now."

"I thought so. Whatever you have planned, you're putting on a mask."

"Not really. I am an extremely confident person. Usually, it's probably at about an eight or a nine. Right now, it's at about eleven while in public."

"I don't suppose you'll let me in on this plan of yours, will you?"

"Afraid not. Sorry, but it won't work if I have help."

Harry sighed. "Fine, have it your way. Let's get to the topic we keep getting off of though. The Bulstrode situation."

"Right, the Bulstrode situation. So, before that, I should probably tell you that a few weeks ago, Ginny and I were attacked by Derrick Mulciber and Alex Jugson."

"Two of your year mates, correct?"

"They are, yes." Harry felt a mild bit of relief that they were only first years. He doubted he would have to get involved with anything like that. And even if for some reason he did, it would serve as no threat or challenge.

"I'm assuming nothing too drastic happened since this is the first I'm hearing of it."

"Not really, no." She grimaced as if she was about to make a rather painful admission. "I was paying too much attention to Ginny, not focusing on my surroundings or who was coming near us. I would've been cursed from behind, but Ginny took the spell for me. Nothing too serious, just a nasty boil hex, but still. I think it was meant as a message more than anything else. When I turned to fight back, they ran."

"And you think this is somehow related to the Bulstrode incident?"

"I have that feeling, yeah. Bulstrode attacked Ginny, not me. For some reason, that seems off. From what Parkinson said about her, it sounds like she was pretty happy keeping to herself until right about then. Maybe she thought she could just get away with it because it was the 'blood traitor Slytherin' or whatever, but it still seems a bit out of character, doesn't it?"

"It does, yeah," Harry admitted. "If it was natural, I don't see why she waited. She had weeks to attack Ginny before that. Now, if Ginny had done something noteworthy that might have upset her, I could buy it, but that timing seems way too convenient." He paused. "How long was this after the first attack on the both of you, exactly?"

Charlotte shrugged. "A week, maybe? No more than two."

Harry sat in silence for about a minute before answering. "That does seem suspicious. Anything you can tell me about the Bulstrode family politically? Aside from the obvious fact that they're part of the Conservative faction."

"Not really. They're fairly quiet. They vote with the rest of their faction like is expected. Millicent's father doesn't speak a whole lot at meetings as far as I know."

"So not much to go off aside from the fact that she seemed to want in on Malfoy's group. Any connection between Malfoy and either Mulciber or Jugson?"

Charlotte's brow furrowed. "Depends on how you look at it."

"How so?"

"How much do you know about the end of the Purity War?"

"Voldemort attacked my family and was destroyed when she tried to kill Charlus. After that, Sirius Black blew up a street, killing Marlene McKinnon and a dozen or so muggles. He confessed in court that he was my family's secret keeper, responsible for placing a bunch of Death Eaters under the Imperius curse, and he even claimed to be Voldemort's second-in-command." One of these days, he was really going to have to figure out what a secret keeper actually was. All he knew was that in one sense or another, Sirius Black had betrayed his parents to Voldemort.

"There was also the torture of the Longbottoms," Harry continued. "Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were both sentenced to life in Azkaban, leaving Bellatrix, Rudolphus's ex-wife and the closest thing there is to a living Lestrange to manage the family."

"And you're familiar with the 'Imperius Defence' and the drama it caused?"

"Vaguely. A bunch of Death Eaters claimed to have been put under it after Black confessed to using it on a bunch of others, right?"

"Yes, but some people never bought the excuse. Some of the Jugsons were actually sent to Azkaban, but Alex's parents got off with that defence. If they were lying, they may have a connection with the Malfoys."

"But Black outright admitted to placing Malfoy under the curse."

"He did, but some people think that Black just wanted to get as many of his friends out of trouble as he could before being shipped off. He was going to Azkaban for life no matter what, so what's a few extra sentences when you're going to die there either way?"

Harry tapped his foot rhythmically, processing all that he had just learned and connecting it back to the matter at hand. "It's possible that the first years and Bulstrode could both be working for Malfoy. Or only the first years, and Bulstrode thought she'd attack Ginny to look good for Draco. Thing is, I don't see a motivation on Malfoy's end. He has no reason to want to go after you. I know the Malfoys and Weasleys don't get along, but this started with an attack on you, not Ginny."

"Which is what has me confused. I could see it being an older student egging them on. Maybe one who has something against my sister, but I don't see how Bulstrode would get involved."

"I don't either, but it all seems too closely connected to be a coincidence."

Charlotte nodded. "My thoughts exactly, but I thought I could use a second opinion."

Harry smiled thinly. "Any time, Charlotte. You know where to find me, at least most of the time."

Charlotte smiled vaguely back at him. "Thanks, Harry. I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

_**October 18, 1992**_

_**The Gryffindor Changing Rooms**_

_**7:53 PM**_

It was a soaked and exhausted Quidditch team that slunk into the changing rooms after their most brutal practice of the school year thus far. That was not to say it hadn't been a good practice. The team had performed exceedingly well, which had become a norm as of late. In spite of that, all seven members of the team were fairly miserable after the brutality wrought upon them by the harsh conditions of the Scottish storm. Their moods improved mildly after a shower, but they weren't exactly shining rays of sunshine, by any stretch.

Well, except for their captain, Oliver Wood.

Really, the previous statement about seven miserable players was a generalization. Six would have been more accurate. Though Wood also looked beaten, bruised and battered, he was wearing a manic smile even as he entered the changing rooms. By the time the rest of his team had exited the shower, Oliver had already showered, changed and set up camp in the portion of the changing rooms that the team used as a "war room". In translation, it was where they discussed and went over strategy and the like.

Frankly, none of the other team members were remotely interested in a meeting, at the moment, but Oliver promised it would be brief. According to their captain, he had an announcement to make. Apparently, he wouldn't even touch on strategy. He had even given his word, which the Weasley twins along with the three chasers had sworn him to on threat of death.

When all of them had taken seats in "the war room", Oliver stood before them, making hard eye contact with each player in turn before making his grand announcement.

"Gentlemen-"

"And ladies!" Alicia pointed out.

"And ladies," their captain amended, "I have an announcement of the utmost importance. Earlier today, all of the captains for each of the house teams received this year's finalized Quidditch schedule. We're up right away; the very first game of the season. It'll be us against the snakes on Saturday, November 7th at 9:30 AM."

At once, the air seemed to thicken in the room as it became laced with oppressive, unyielding tension. All of the Gryffindor's postures straightened as their eyes sharpened. All bleary eyes and lackadaisical expressions were gone now. In their places, staring resolutely back up at their captain were six, rock-hard visages of LASER-precision focus and intense determination.

"I don't need to tell any of you how important this match is," Oliver understated. "Last year, we should've had the Cup. Due to… circumstances outside of our control, we didn't." Charlus felt guilt well in the pit of his stomach at the reminder that at the time of Gryffindor's final game against Ravenclaw, he had been unconscious alongside his brother in the Hospital Wing after the confrontation with Voldemort down in the catacombs.

"They have the flashy brooms, I'll give them that," Oliver conceded. "They also have a team full of rich, spoiled, entitled pureblood brats who have never had to earn a damn thing in their lives. They don't have as much heart as any of us. All the money in the world can't buy what we have. The only one on that team who might have an ounce of heart is the Slytherin Potter, and he's fucked. He has to fly against this little prodigy in his first-ever match." Charlus smiled, effortlessly putting on an outwardly confident expression. Internally, he was more nervous than he should have been.

Logically, he should crush his brother. Logically, Harry should have no chance of getting to the snitch before him. Logically, this should be a laughably easy match for Charlus.

But…

Logically, people were not supposed to survive the killing curse. Logically, an eleven-year-old boy shouldn't be able to vaporize the Dark Lady by touching her. And logically, Harry should have been part of the Potter family for a decade.

All of that was to say that Charlus was slowly losing faith in logic and its bearing on the universe. It seemed that in his life, illogical conclusions seemed far more applicable in terms of making any realistic predictions as to the future.

The worst part was, because of how obvious it seemed that he would beat Harry, he would be the laughingstock of the school if he did not do just that.

Charlus Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest seeker in a century, the seeker who had never lost a match… and the idiot who lost to a guy who had only been flying for a year and who was playing in his first-ever Quidditch match.

As much as Charlus was over his petty grudge with Harry, he wasn't sure if his ego could bear it.

He wasn't stupid. He recognized exactly what kind of effect Harry's victory had had on him at the Potter family gala. That would be multiplied by a several digit-long interval if Charlus lost to Harry, and by extension, Slytherin in front of the entire school.

So lost he was in thoughts and worries that he actually missed the rest of Oliver's impassioned speech about the importance of Gryffindor's first Quidditch match of the year.

What he did not miss, however, was the twins creeping out of the door ahead of the rest. With narrowed eyes, Charlus followed at a brisk pace.

This time, he didn't don the cloak.

This time, he wanted to be seen.

For much of the last week, Charlus had tailed the Terrors of Gryffindor. He had needed to know, for his own sake, whether it had actually been the twins who'd pranked Harry and the Slytherins all those weeks ago now.

To his horror, he'd had his worst fears confirmed only days earlier. He had followed them into an alcove in which the two of them had partaken in a hushed argument. Fred wanted to pull some grandiose prank at the Halloween feast, but George was set steadfast against it. In the end, his reasoning had boiled down to the prank on the Slytherins.

They were still in hot water over that. Nobody could prove it had been them, but the school wasn't stupid. For one thing, the twins had spent several nights in the hospital wing since the incident. All of those nights were results of rather vicious and vastly numerous bits of retaliation on the part of Slytherin House. But beyond that, the teachers were equally perceptive.

If another major prank happened and they slipped up, allowing for it to be pinned on them in any way, shape or form, they were effectively screwed.

In the end, George had thankfully won the argument, but Charlus hadn't been overly interested in its conclusion.

He had gotten what he wanted from it, and now it was time to get more direct answers.

Before they could draw too near to the castle, Charlus fired a low-powered stinging hex at one of the twin's backs. He wasn't sure which one, nor did he particularly care. The two of them had been so engrossed in whatever conversation they'd been having that they had failed altogether to notice that somebody had crept up right behind them. The twins whirled, going for their wands until they spotted who it was.

"Ickle Potter!" the two of them exclaimed in unison. When Charlus only stared pensively back at them, their faces slowly lost some of their joviality.

"We need to talk," Charlus said shortly, gesturing to the edge of the Forbidden Forest behind Hagrid's hut. It was as good a spot as any to assure they were not overheard. Hell, it was the spot he and Harry had used last year when planning the final destruction of Malfoy's elaborate plot to get Harry expelled, disowned and imprisoned.

In a surprising show of perceptiveness, both twins nodded soberly, following Charlus to his chosen destination with little drama. When the Gryffindor trio reached the edge of the forest and Charlus had cast the Muffliato charm, drawing raised eyebrows from the twins due to their ignorance in regards to said spell, Charlus finally spoke.

"I want to hear it from you two; what happened the night you pranked the Slytherin Quidditch team?"

To Charlus's great annoyance, the two of them immediately looked indignant, actually going as far as to posture, as if they were about to put in some great defence of themselves. "Don't bother," Charlus cut in forcefully, "I heard you two admit to it while hiding behind a tapestry on the fifth floor a few days back."

The twins both looked taken aback. A moment later, however, their eyes narrowed. "You can't have," George said carefully, as if trying to deduce how on earth that was possible.

Charlus rolled his eyes. "You guys do realize that your knowledge of the castle is useless if somebody is following you, right?"

"But that's the thing, ickle Potter," Fred put in. "You can't have been following us."

"Like, it literally shouldn't be possible," George added.

Charlus's eyes narrowed. "I was invisible, you idiots."

"It shouldn't matter," Fred answered at once.

"It might," George mused thoughtfully. "Does it show invisible people? We've never known somebody who can be invisible, so maybe it doesn't?"

"But how would that work magically?"

"To hell if I know. We've been trying to figure the damn thing out for more than a year and still haven't gotten anywhere."

"True, true."

As if they had both come to a startling realization at the exact same moment in time, both twins levelled intensely curious, intensely suspicious stares upon their seeker. "How the hell were you invisible?" they asked as one.

Charlus looked rather uncomfortable with that question. He had not planned for the issue of his cloak to come up. Right about now, he was seriously regretting that slip-up, small as it may have seemed at the time. "Cloak," he muttered, "used to be Dad's, but he gave it to me before I came to Hogwarts."

"An actual invisibility cloak?" Fred breathed in awe.

"Can we see it?" George asked hopefully.

"Some other time, maybe," Charlus deflected. "Now, answer my question. I heard the two of you arguing over whether or not to pull some sort of massive prank on Halloween. When George brought up how bad of an idea that would have been after the prank on the Quidditch team, the two of you scratched those plans."

As annoyed as the twins looked, they were clearly equal parts impressed. Still, they looked intensely uncomfortable, as if this was the last place on Earth they would choose to be at that moment in time. A more accurate summary would be that they would wish to be having any other conversation right about now.

"We bottled it," Fred said bluntly, deciding to rip the bandage off as quickly as one could.

Charlus's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean you 'bottled it'?"

"It wasn't supposed to be that bad," George answered, sounding as if he was pleading for Charlus to believe him.

Charlus frowned. "So you didn't mean for them to grow scales?"

Once more, both twins looked extremely uneasy. "Um… we did, yeah," Fred said lamely. "We… didn't really think that part through."

"How the hell do you not think that part through?"

"Well, after the whole incident with the brooms, the cursing and our dear brother's backfiring wand, we decided to get the bastards back. We literally have rolls and rolls of parchment full of scrapped ideas on how to do it. When we came up with the scales, we thought it was perfect, you know? Slimy, snaky Slytherins and all that."

"We were so stoked on the idea," Fred picked up, 'that we didn't really think it through. We saw it and were like 'yup, that's the one' and then we just kind of moved onto doing it. By the time we committed, we honestly didn't have much time to think about anything. That potion was bloody impossible to brew, and let's not even talk about how much of a pain in the ass sneaking a book out of the Restricted Section is without getting caught when you can't be invisible."

"And even that isn't taking into account the logistics," George added. "How were we going to get the Slytherins to take in the potion and all the rest? The first batch we brewed was meant to be ingested, but we realized that would never work. So, we had to come up with a solution that could be absorbed through the skin. It took ages! Was stressful as all hell, too."

"And somewhere in that process, I think we forgot about the whole 'what would actually happen if somebody grew scales bit,'" Fred finished a bit lamely.

"You know," George added, fidgeting, "the whole conflict between scales and bones and the whole pushing through the skin thing."

"We wanted it to hurt like a bitch and leave them in the infirmary for the night, but we never, ever wanted any of that. We talk a lot about Slytherin, but we don't really hate them. I mean, most of them are dicks, but that was a bit far."

"Just a bit," Charlus muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes at the twins' gift for profound understatements.

"So… are we cool?" Fred asked tentatively, looking extremely nervous to hear Charlus's response. "You're not gonna go run off to Dumbledore or anything?"

"Yeah, we're cool," Charlus sighed. "I know you two aren't that thick-headed to actually want to get people badly hurt. Just… ugh! I know this is stupid coming from the idiot who tried to fly a car to Hogwarts, but use your heads, will you?" In spite of themselves, the twins actually grinned at the self-deprecating gag.

"So no running off to Dumbledore?" Fred pressed, wanting that assurance, at least.

"No running off to Dumbledore," Charlus agreed. The twins had been idiots, but a terrible mistake, in his eyes, did not justify expulsion from a place as magical as Hogwarts. "I am gonna tell Harry though," Charlus told them and the twins suddenly looked a bit apprehensive. It was no wonder why. If Slytherin House had actual confirmation of the assailants' identities, there was no telling how hellacious the twins' lives could become for the foreseeable future. "He deserves to know. They all deserve to know."

As much as they obviously wanted to deny it, both of the Weasley twins knew he was right, so they both reluctantly nodded their agreement with matching, guilty expressions.

* * *

_**October 19, 1992**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**6:39 PM**_

Pansy felt intensely uncomfortable locked in the room with Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott. She had been on her way to dinner when she'd found her path suddenly blocked by the two largest kids in their year, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. When she had attempted to not-so-politely order both Crabbe and Goyle out of her way, she was cut off by a cool, condescending drawl.

"In a hurry, Pansy?"

Promptly, Pansy's posture dramatically stiffened as if a straight, metal rod had been fastened tightly in line with her spine. Soon after the voice had rung out through the corridor, Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind his two minions, his hair shining malevolently in the low torchlight of the corridor as his cold, hard stare resembled angry storm clouds as they locked onto Pansy's chocolate brown eyes.

"I'd just like to get to dinner, Draco."

"We're not going to stop you, Pansy. It'll be quick, I promise. We just have business to discuss." It was then that Pansy noticed Theodore Nott standing a bit behind Draco, a sinisterly benign expression resting upon his sharp features.

Little as Pansy liked to admit it, she really had no choice in the matter. She was outnumbered four to one, with the two largest, most physically imposing kids in the year blocking her path. Granted, she was not short on confidence in a hypothetical duel against the lumbering trolls who stood before her. Against Draco, she was less sure. Pansy knew a few, solid hexes and curses, but her strengths were not in duelling. Against Theodore, she had a high degree of certainty in the results of a similar hypothetical situation.

A high degree of certainty that she would lose.

Theodore was highly interested in duelling and knew more curses than anyone else in Draco's group. He also had a solid base in duelling, courtesy of his father, Tiberius.

In short, she was effectively cornered by the group whom she'd effectively abandoned a short time ago.

Before she knew it, Pansy had found herself herded into one of Hogwarts' many abandoned classrooms. When the door had closed, Draco rounded on Pansy. "So, Pansy, a lot has changed in a week, I see."

Pansy's face twisted into something ugly. "Nothing has changed, Draco. I just decided to make a move to better my future."

"Is that what you call being a sneaking traitor, Parkinson," Nott snarled, dense undertones of accusation prevalent in his voice.

Pansy scoffed. "Grow up, Theodore. You make it sound as if I've betrayed you in a war or something. I've chosen to spend more time with other children."

"You know it's more than that, Parkinson. Who you hang around with is a political statement. Instead of hanging around with the right sort, you've chosen to consort with halfbloods and blood traitors."

"If you haven't noticed, Theodore, Daphne and Blaise are purebloods."

"If you haven't noticed, Parkinson, Potter and Davis are halfbloods. And lately, I've seen Weasley tangled up in your little group of friends too."

"You make it sound as if I invited her."

"It doesn't matter whether you invited her or not, Pansy," Draco said tiredly. "That should have been your cue to leave. As soon as your group started letting the riff-raff into the fold, you should have gotten out. You're better than that. We'll welcome you back, but I don't want to see you go down the wrong path."

"Stop making this sound like it's about me! It's never been about anyone but you, Draco. Especially not since whatever drama happened with Potter last May. You haven't been the same since. You've been too full of yourself, too worried about pitying yourself and complaining to even give any attention to those around you, let alone care about them. You've changed, Draco. Hogwarts has changed you, and you're no longer the best choice for me to align with. I'm sorry, but I'd like to go back down to the Great Hall now."

She made to step forward, but Crabbe and Goyle once more blocked her exit. She tensed right away, feeling the tension thicken in the room around her as the inevitable altercation drew near. She considered going for her wand, but she could already see Theodore moving towards his own, and she knew any attempts she made to best him would be futile.

Before the conflict could begin, however, the door opened loudly, drawing the attention of all who were present.

Harry Potter stood on the threshold of the room, with Charlotte Weitts standing just behind him. Charlotte looked a bit tense, her odd, magnetic eyes quickly and ruthlessly evaluating the situation before her.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed completely calm in spite of the obvious tension in the air. "Sorry if I'm interrupting something," he said casually. "I didn't realize there was any trouble."

* * *

_**Minutes earlier, in the Great Hall...**_

Harry's jade green eyes swept over the Slytherin table once more. By now, dinner had been in progress for almost forty minutes. Around Harry sat Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Laine, Charlotte and Ginny. The noticeable absence from the get-go had been Pansy, who had yet to miss a meal with the rest of the group up until this point.

Another irregularity that Harry noticed was that Draco Malfoy was also not present.

Nor, it seemed, were Crabbe, Goyle and Nott.

Harry casually slid his plate away from him, excusing himself early. He was actually finished with his food, and he suddenly suspected more important business than partaking in mundane conversation was beckoning for his attention.

He was almost out of the hall by the time somebody called for him to wait up. He did not stop moving, but he did glance over his shoulder to see Charlotte hot on his heels. "What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Joining you."

"You don't have to."

"Would you rather I didn't?"

"Not really, I just don't see why you followed me."

"If you must know, I could sense your switch of mood. Judging by how good you are at reading situations, it seemed more serious than my meal."

"So you're coming for backup, then?"

"I guess you could say that, yes."

Harry took a moment to ponder before nodding. Charlotte could be useful on this escapade. There was also, of course, the fact that he didn't mind her company.

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

"This doesn't concern you, Potter!" Nott snarled, shooting an openly hateful glare towards the new male arrival.

"We'll have to agree to disagree, Nott. From what I can tell, it seems like the four of you are harassing a friend of mine."

"We weren't doing anything," Draco said coldly, looking resolutely anywhere but at Harry.

In contrast to Draco, Harry smiled in an almost warm way. "That's good to hear, Draco." Pansy could practically see the Malfoy Heir fume as Harry called him by his first name. "In that case, you won't mind if Pansy joins us for dinner?"

There was a moment where Nott was very obviously about to make it plainly clear exactly how much he did mind. At the same moment, Draco caught his eye in an equally obvious fashion, and reluctantly, Nott backed down.

"Pansy is free to do whatever she likes," Draco said a bit stiffly. "I just want her to know that she will always have to live with the repercussions of her choices."

"How thoughtful of you," Harry mused, a smirk gently playing on his lips. "Seeing as I'm sure she knows that, we'll be leaving now. Good catching up with you Draco, Theo." When Harry shortened Nott's name, Pansy could see the hatred and fury flash in his eyes, see the way every muscle in his lithe form was suddenly wrought with tension.

But again, he did nothing.

None of them did anything as Harry and Charlotte very casually led her from the room.

"For future reference, Pansy," Harry said once out of earshot, "be a bit more careful, will you? I won't always be conveniently in place to bail you out. And I won't always have somebody with me who can tell me whether or not I'm about to walk into a set of wards."

Pansy looked sharply at Charlotte, taken aback by the implications of that last sentence. Masking her surprise and noting Charlotte's passive demeanour, she nodded slowly. "Thanks, you two. I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

_**October 24, 1992**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**8:00 PM**_

As Harry predictably lost his wand to Calypso, his attention refocused on the other ongoing duel in the room.

Cassius fired a purple spell at Hestia, who sidestepped and conjured arrows, banishing them towards Cassius. Cassius shielded, allowing the arrows to splash off of his shield as Hestia quickly reeled off the blasting curse, piledriving her way straight through Cassius's shield with the blunt, magical attack. Cassius had rolled out of the way before the spell made impact so when he came to his feet, he was already in a prime position to counter.

Hestia, never one to back down from a firefight, exchanged spells with him. The spell-fire was fast and intense on both ends until Hestia managed to slip a well-placed curse through Cassius's Defences.

"Exoculutus!"

There was a flash of white light from Hestia's wand so bright that for a moment, Harry's vision was forcefully ripped away from him. Judging by the pained scream emanating from Cassius, he was more directly affected. Seconds later, he lost his wand and immediately, he began to rub furiously at his eyes, obviously in a considerable amount of pain.

"Vidēre."

Calypso's wand omitted a vibrant flash of blue light and with a relieved sigh, Cassius slumped to his knees, blinking his eyes furiously as if he had just emerged from complete and utter darkness.

"The blinding curse," Calypso elaborated when she saw Harry's look of puzzlement. "It's quite the nasty spell. It will blind a person completely until it's countered. In the meantime, I've heard the burning sensation is hell." Cassius moaned from the floor, obviously affirming that statement. "It's not hard to counter, but a right pain in battle. You can't exactly take time to counter its effects if you can't see the other spells coming at you. Cassius should've just shielded instantly, but I imagine he was surprised."

"Bloody well right I was surprised!" Cassius muttered darkly as he climbed to his feet. "Bit harsh, don't you think?" he asked Hestia, who just shrugged noncommittally in response.

"I don't like losing."

"Clearly," Cassius responded dryly.

Harry shuddered at the implications of that curse. He hated the idea of being helpless. It was a concept the likes of which he hated above all other imaginable things. It was no surprise that in light of that, he abhorred the idea of not being able to see. It could open him up to an infinitely large multitude of situations, none of which were likely to end favourably for him.

"Can you teach me the counter to that?" he asked Calypso quietly as Hestia and Flora decided to duel one another.

"That's probably not a bad idea. I don't really love the idea of blinding somebody in order for you to learn it. So, let's just run you through the spell for tonight." Harry nodded and they began.

The main difficulty in learning the Viderē counter curse was that it was a spell very heavily based on intent. You truly had to intend very strongly to reverse the damage the curse had done. It was for this reason that according to Calypso, the counter would not work if you were, for instance, trying to heal somebody who you intensely disliked. By the end of the practice, Harry was reasonably sure he had gotten the hang of it. Though seeing as nobody was particularly eager to be a live training dummy, he couldn't be sure.

That thought did give him pause though.

As Cassius, Hestia and Flora made to leave the room, Harry caught Calypso's eye and made a subtle gesture, asking whether or not she would mind hanging back. She briefly nodded, gesturing for her friends to go ahead before she was left alone in the room with Harry.

"What is it, Harry?"

"What if I told you I have a way to work on spells like that?"

Calypso frowned. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

"I know of a place with targets that will react to spell-fire like humans."

"Inside of Hogwarts?" He nodded. "Where?"

He paused. "I'm… not entirely sure I should tell you. There is at least one other person who might use it, and I'm not sure how they would react if I told you. I'll clear it with them before telling you, if that's okay?"

"Sure," Calypso said with a nod. "In that case, do you want me to actually teach you the Blinding Curse?"

Harry hesitated. "Can I ask you a couple of honest questions and have you answer me very honestly, Calypso?"

"Unless you ask something I have a very good reason not to answer, then absolutely."

"The Blinding curse would be classified as a 'dark curse', correct?"

Calypso's eyes narrowed. "Correct."

"I've heard the expression that there's no such thing as light and dark or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded." For a second, Harry swore he saw a look of recognition and of surprise in his older friend's eyes. As quickly as it had seemingly appeared, it had certainly vanished. Perhaps Calypso too had read the centuries-old text of Emeric Emelaus. "I tend to believe that's true. It's a cliché analogy, but you could kill somebody with a tickling or levitation charm. But… I've heard things about 'dark magic.'" This time, he physically drew air quotes around the last two words.

"And you want me to tell you whether or not they're true, or whether they're censored, government propaganda?"

Harry nodded. "If you can, yes."

Calypso gave him a long, evaluating look. "What makes you think that I'm the right person to ask these questions to?"

"I'm… not sure. You're the best duellist I know and don't seem bothered by the Ministry's restrictions. If I had to guess, I would assume you think pretty much like I do when it comes to the whole 'dark magic' debate. So, you probably know some of it, at least. If you can't answer me, that's fine."

Most of that was actually true.

Grace was definitely a better duellist than Calypso, at least for now, but he didn't need to reveal that fact, nor that he was on more than speaking terms with the top player in Slytherin. Also unsaid were the implications of her family.

Whether her father was a Death Eater or not was up for debate and had been for years. Her mother had died in a raid conducted by the Death Eaters, and she had not been fighting for the Ministry. What that meant for the traditionally conservative Rosier family, Harry wasn't sure, in the grand scheme of things.

But if Calypso's family library wasn't filled with books packed with all kinds of interesting, morally questionable magic, then Harry would forfeit the sight he had regained as a result of the vampire's ritual.

Harry had learned all of that information after befriending Calypso.

If he were going to spend time with a person, he was damn sure going to learn as much about that person as he could without being outwardly obvious with his inquisitions.

"I never said I couldn't answer," Calypso pointed out. "I can probably answer, but I was curious to hear your thoughts. That was a very safe answer, Harry."

He shrugged. "I'm not one for speculating, personally."

"A safe outlook. Well, what are your questions?"

"I've… read in a few books that 'dark magic' is extremely addictive and that one of the reasons why it's outlawed is because it tends to lead people down a dark path."

"Rubbish," Calypso answered without hesitation. "You clearly haven't opened the book I sent you last Yule. I'm not surprised, since it may have been a bit much to send it to a first year, but you really should read it. Beyond the list of spells, potions and the like, the theory behind them are extremely interesting.

"I'm probably not the best person to explain this theory to you. Let us just say that magic can be addicting and leave it at that. Magic is magic. Magic doesn't decide that certain spells are light and certain spells are dark. That's one of the reasons that the Ministry's classifications are completely ridiculous. There is no difference in magic in that sense. It's what the spell can be used for that's different.

"Again, I'm not the person to explain this. I know a bit of the theory, but it's not exactly written down in many places. You might be able to find a book on it if you looked through the Restricted Section. I know the basics and didn't really dive much further than that."

Harry for some reason doubted that the Restricted Section would hold those answers. Fortunately, he had a magical genius on standby to answer his theoretical questions, and he would definitely be taking this topic of discussion to her as soon as he was back in the comfort of his dormitory.

From what he could tell, Calypso was a pragmatist. She learned what was prudent and directly helpful. The difference was that Harry was intensely curious and suspicious of things that were told to him. After being lied to for the majority of one's life about how they had come to live the life they led and how their parents had become separated from them, he thought it was only natural. And even beyond that, Harry couldn't let something go on the basis that he 'knew enough.'

He would always need to pursue that topic until his level of knowledge and understanding was one that he deemed acceptable.

But for now, he would push that specific question to the back of his mind, even if it would inevitably resurface a short time later.

* * *

_**Sometime later, in the Slytherin dorms…**_

Harry, near bursting with curiosity, practically bolted behind the veil of his curtains upon his arrival back to the Slytherin common room and later, his dorm. He was far too curious not to seek out immediate answers. That desire found him sitting on his bed, hovering a quill eagerly over his connection to Emily Riddle.

_So, an interesting topic came up today. It's a bit… controversial, but I was wondering if I could ask you about it? _

Her response was slightly more delayed than Harry was accustomed to. He could practically picture whatever the person in possession of the linked bit of parchment looked like trying to ponder exactly what he might ask.

After a time, the response came.

_I've said already, Harry, that you may ask me about anything you like. Specifically, in regards to magic, I would be happy to answer any questions you might have. By the nature and wording of your question, I am going to assume that your question centres around one or more areas of extracurricular study._

_You could say that, yes. If I ask something that I'm… not supposed to ask, you're not going to show this to the authorities or anything, are you?_

_Ah, you intend to ask about banned magic, then?_

_It's… not exactly legal. So yes, I suppose so._

_I find the English Ministry's classification system in regards to magic positively laughable. It was written by fools who were weak and ignorant. They feared the true scope of magic because they knew that it was so far beyond them._

_So in short, no, I will not bat an eye at your question._

_Curiosity is not a sin, Harry. It is a beautiful thing that should be nurtured and allowed to flourish. So please, ask your question._

After an intense moment of hesitation, Harry's curiosity won out over his perpetual sense of paranoia.

_I practice combat magic with some older friends and the blinding curse came up. I had one of them show me the counter, and she eventually ended up offering to show me the spell itself. We started talking a bit about "dark magic" and I had some questions. She answered them, but she admitted herself that she probably wasn't the right person to give details. I think she sort of learns what's useful to her and then moves on. I'd like to get your opinion on what I asked her, and maybe ask some more detailed questions if you don't mind._

Harry smiled abashedly at the response.

_I don't see a question in that paragraph, Harry. There is no need to justify yourself to me. I've already given you the green light to ask as you please. _

Sighing, Harry finally put his quill to the parchment and got to the point.

_I'm not sure if it's Ministry propaganda, but I've read that "dark magic" is extremely addictive. I've even heard some authors say that it's one of the reasons why it's banned. That you can get addicted to "dark magic" and it can change you. I asked my friend this question, but I'd really appreciate your take on it._

_How about you tell me exactly how your friend answered the question. That way, I know what I am working with. Or which misconceptions I need to erase._

Harry's lips twitched. Emily's ever-present confidence was endearing in an odd sort of way. Similar to Charlotte in that way, actually. But a lot less dangerous for him, which amplified the endearing feeling and avoided the dread that came with every display of confidence from the youngest daughter of House Weitts.

_My friend said it was rubbish. She said that magic can be addictive. She said that magic is magic; it doesn't pick what spells are dark and which spells are light. It's all the same. The difference is in the intent of the spell, not the magic itself._

There was a longer pause this time.

_She is mostly correct. That is a rather insightful answer for a student to give, and I am reasonably impressed with it. It has some gaps, however, so allow me to enlighten you._

_The short answer is no, "dark magic" is not addictive. Your friend is not entirely correct in saying that the spell doesn't matter, though her sentiment is true. The magic does not artificially change its wielder based on the intent of the spell._

_There are two reasons, aside from the purpose of spreading propaganda, of course, that people say "dark magic" is addictive._

_The first is that for many spells considered "dark" by your Ministry, the caster must conjure up negative intent of some kind. The intent to harm is a fairly frequent esoteric requirement, for instance. The problem lies in the fact that most people do not have the emotional or mental control to conjure up that specific, clear intent. As a result, they use a metaphorical crutch to cast "dark magic"._

_They focus on something vaguer than intent, that being emotion. In place of true, guided intent, a person can force up negative emotions. The most frequently used are hate and anger. This is problematic because if a person learns to cast like this and begins to cast these spells frequently, they are inevitably plunging themselves into a perpetual paradox of sadness, depression and fury. _

_This is not the magic's fault, but the caster's._

_If one has true control over their mind and they understand the difference between emotions and intent, this is not a problem. Occlumency is extremely useful in this process. Particularly once a person learns to manipulate their emotions. It is wholly unnecessary to be able to do this in order to cast "dark spells", but it certainly makes the process easier._

Harry took a moment to soak all of that in before he asked his next question. It was indeed a much deeper answer than Calypso had given, but that was to be expected. Harry liked Calypso, but she had nothing on Emily Riddle when it came to magical knowledge and experience. He found that the last answer was a lot to digest, but that was fairly typical for these conversations.

Within about two minutes, he was ready for more and writing his follow up question.

_And the other reason?_

_Here is where I am going to need to further your knowledge on magic itself for this response to make any degree of sense, as well as patch one of the few holes in your friend's initial answer._

Harry felt his pulse quicken in excitement. This answer sounded as if it would be extremely enlightening and intensely intriguing.

_The statement "magic is magic" is true in a sense but it is also fundamentally flawed. Magic is one, universal force in which we as witches and wizards can warp with our intent. In that sense, one could argue magic is as flexible as one's intent, while one could argue that since magic is a near infinitely powerful blank slate, it is one, constant force. Frankly, that is an absurdly philosophical debate that we need not get into. _

_The other thing you must know about magic is that it is a force that lives and breathes all around us. Magic is not within a person. No compartment nor organ within a human being stores magic. There is no genetic disposition that allows a witch or wizard to produce magic. _

_Producing magic in this way is not possible. _

_As I said, magic is a living, breathing force that lives all around us. Don't make the mistake of the less educated and think of us witches and wizards as containers. _

_Instead, think of us as conductors._

_Magic is a blank slate all around us which is there to be manipulated. When we call upon the force itself, we draw magic into us before our intent shapes it and projects it outwards. Obviously, I am oversimplifying this since I do not think you need to know how that process works at this point. Suffice to say it is complex and multi-faceted. _

_The important thing to take from that, for this explanation, is the bit about us being conductors. The grander an act we are attempting, the more magic are bodies will naturally need to draw in. Of course, some people are naturally better conductors than others, which is how they are more "powerful". _

_The truth lays here. _

"_Dark magic" is not addictive._

_Powerful magic is addictive._

_For feats of magic grander and more significant, we need to absorb more magic, as I have said. Drawing in large amounts of magic at a time is addictive. Extremely so, even. It is akin to sensory overload, in a sense. The truth of the matter is that the reason "dark magic" gets lumped in with this phenomenon is that many "dark spells" are ones that require a very large amount of magic to make work. As a result, you experience a "rush" when casting them._

_But this is not by any means exclusive to dark magic._

_If you were to conjure objects of a grand scale or complexity, a similar thing happens. When one apparates, they experience a similar, if admittedly lesser sensation. That is also the reason apparition is far less pleasant if you are being apparated by another person as opposed to doing it yourself_

_In short, powerful magic is addictive, not "dark magic". There are other spells that require such energy which are not dark, so a person will find it fundamentally impossible to get addicted to "dark magic" as long as they properly guide their intent._

_There is nothing that sets 'dark magic" aside from any other magic aside from the power it requires. As a result, one cannot get addicted to 'dark magic'. The worst-case scenario is that you get addicted to powerful magic._

_As for warping a person. That may be a discussion for another time. For now, just picture what might happen if one begins to frequently cast spells that become, to them, synonymous with fury or hatred._

Yes, that would do it, he supposed.

Harry was left reeling and scratching his temples as a result of that. Sighing, he flipped the page and began to take notes. After all, along with the first page serving as a communication tool, this was a basically endless journal.

It was about time Harry started putting that function to good use.

* * *

_**October 25, 1992**_

_**The Library**_

_**7:57 PM**_

Charlotte sighed, glancing back at the other reason she was confined to the library with Ginny and Laine.

"Officially", she had been finishing her prep. At least, that was what she had told her friends.

Of course, that much was also true.

But it was only half the reason she was there in the first place.

The other reason had pale skin, well-defined features, intense, dark eyes and vivid black hair. Speaking of Derrick Mulciber, Charlotte saw him move out of the corner of her eye.

He was sitting at a table on his own, with several books on charms chaotically clustered around him.

Or, at least, he had been sitting at the table

Currently, he was getting to his feet, scooping up the books and moving to put them back as he slung his bag over one shoulder.

Taking her cue, Charlotte politely excused herself, promptly packing up her cluster of things before making her way towards the exit to the library. On the way out, she bumped into him, as expected.

Quite forcefully, at that.

Charlotte, who had braced for the impact, reared back as if it had done more than it actually had. Mulciber swore under his breath, shooting a vicious glare in her general direction. "Watch where the hell you're going, Weitts!"

Charlotte made hard, intense eye contact with Mulciber and the boy shivered. It felt as if waves of heat were washing over him. At the same time, a feeling crept up within him that was something akin to having his soul read and his secrets laid bare. Clearly, in his mind, Weitts was trying to get him to back down.

As annoying as it was, the impulse did certainly arise.

With a considerable effort, Derrick bit down on the emotion, hard.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Mulciber. I know your ego takes up a lot of room, but I think you still had enough space to get around me."

"Weitts, I swear, if you don't shut up-"

"Curse me then, Mulciber. I dare you to curse me." As she said this, Charlotte actually went as far as to put her hands behind her back, tilting her head challengingly towards Mulciber.

But still, there was that look in Weitts's eyes.

That look that promised that she would scorch the earth in her efforts to gain retribution.

And also the fact that they were in the library, which was far too useful of a source to lose. Which was exactly what would happen to Derrick if he cursed Charlotte there and then.

In light of these things, Derrick Mulciber stormed from the library with his head held high, shooting one, last disdainful look back in Charlotte Weitts's direction. He failed to notice the thin, sharp smile on the blonde's soft, aristocratic face as he made his exit.*

* * *

As he began his descent down the marble staircase leading into the Hogwarts dungeons, Derrick Mulciber was about done with Charlotte Weitts. What had become a simple task levied upon him had become something more personal since their first encounter.

He could not explain, even to himself, why he had thought fleeing was the best course of action at the time of the attack. After all, they had been blessed with a numeric advantage in the altercation. But still, there had been a thick, unmistakable aura of danger flowing around the corridor. An aura that seemed to practically whisper the words of warning that had flashed through his mind at the time.

In hindsight, he wished he and Alex simply would have stood their ground.

The smugness on Weitts's face on the occasions they had met was something he couldn't stand. The way she had practically ordered him out of the library was even more infuriating.

But contrary to what Charlotte Weitts might think, he had not left the library out of any sense of fear or self-preservation.

Instead, he had left the library in search of his original accomplice.

The first time had been a setup which he himself had not orchestrated. This time would be a message, a display. Unlike the last, it would be done solely for his own, selfish desires.

Just as he thought this, Mulciber came to the bottom of the marble staircase and began to descend deeper into the Hogwarts dungeons, drawing nearer and nearer to the Slytherin common room.

As he rounded a corner, Mulciber paused to consider where he thought his best friend and chosen accomplice may have been.

That pause was what allowed a white jet of light to hit Mulciber in the back, causing him to go rigid as a board and fall forwards.

* * *

From behind the suit of armour connected to the passage near the girl's bathroom on the second floor, Charlotte Weitts stepped out into the dungeon corridor, levitating the immobile body of Derrick Mulciber into an abandoned classroom a bit down the hall. She noted the fact that later, she would have to thank Harry for the tidbit about that passage. She had asked for the fastest way from the library to the dungeons, and he had obliged her request in seconds.

That had been several days ago.

Ever since her talk with Harry, Charlotte had believed that the attack by Bulstrode on Weasley had been a connected event. This meant in her mind that it was time to properly retaliate. Not with anything major, as of yet, but a warning shot, of sorts.

This had led her to briefly scan the mind of Derrick Mulciber on her way out of the library, quickly noting that he was on his way down to the dungeons. She also noted, as their brief and hostile conversation had progressed, that he planned to set up an ambush for her.

Unfortunately for him, he was not an Occlumens, and thanks to Harry, she could get down to the dungeons far faster than he could.

"In the future, Mulciber, definitely don't stop in the middle of an open corridor with your back exposed. You made that way too easy," Charlotte floated him into the corner of the room. With another wave of her wand, Charlotte piled desks in front of him. It did not completely obscure him from view, but it would assure he was not discovered here for some time.

Then, she waited. Before levitating him into the room, she had managed to get a flash of something from him. Something about this room being his destination. Her best guess was that he and Jugson often used it as a meeting place.

So, logically, the best way she might be able to find him was by waiting.

She waited longer than she would have liked, about thirty minutes, to be precise. But sure enough, footsteps could be heard after that time had elapsed, obviously coming closer and closer to the room. With a sweet smile, Charlotte slid her wand from her sleeve and waited. When the door opened and Alex Jugson stepped through, he too was struck by a full-body-bind before he could do so much as move.

Before he could fall, Charlotte caught him with a levitation charm and propped him up against the wall in a standing position, keeping him upright with the force of the spell. Then, she stepped towards him, reaching out with the hand that was not holding her wand. Using that hand, she tilted his chin up so that his eyes could meet hers, since his head had slumped limply towards his chest.

"This is your warning, Jugson, since I have a feeling Mulciber is too stubborn to listen. This is me on the fly, with barely any planning or effort. If you two idiots keep going, I'm going to take this a lot more seriously."

If Jugson could have moved, he would have shivered. He had never been fond of starting drama with the youngest member of House Weitts to begin with, and this was not exactly a firm boost for his confidence. Least of all when those mesmerizing eyes seemed to be searching his very soul.

But before he could ponder on it much more, he too was carelessly discarded behind the stacked desks with the levitation charm, and Charlotte had swept out of the abandoned classroom without a second glance.

* * *

_**October 28, 1992**_

_**The Slytherin Changing Rooms**_

_**8:03 PM**_

After one of the more intense team practices thus far, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins stepped gratefully into their waiting showers. As November drew near, the frigid weather in the Scottish Highlands had become borderline brutal at this time of night. In light of this, many of the showers currently in use were spraying forth water that was a bit warmer than their occupants would normally prefer.

Predictably, Harry was the first to finish showering. Years of conditioning on Privet Drive had left its mark. After having such limited shower time for the majority of his life, it wasn't a luxury Harry was accustomed to taking advantage of. It was because of this fact that Harry was the first one out of the changing rooms, shivering lightly at the sudden and unwelcome change of temperatures.

Soon after, he nearly jumped a foot into the air when a voice hissed from somewhere off to his left.

"Psst, Harry."

He whirled, emerald eyes scanning the landscape for the speaker. His eyes found nothing. Nor, disturbingly, did his ring. Thus far, the only person who had effectively managed to evade whatever magic was used on his ring had been Albus Dumbledore.

A disembodied, dishevelled mop of black hair made itself present as a hood was lowered, revealing a floating, familiar face.

"Charlus?" Harry asked skeptically, tensing marginally at his twin's arrival

Since the fiasco that had been the climax of their first year, the two of them had not properly spoken so much as once. The closest they had come was at the gala, in which they had essentially been obligated to at least make cordial, casual conversation with one another. Even that had been tense, and their relationship had only worsened after the spat in the alley and the tension between the Gryffindors and Slytherins regarding their upcoming Quidditch match.

Oh, and the whole incident when Ron Weasley had punched Harry in the face for trying to stop him from being a git. He supposed that probably hadn't helped.

When taking all of that into consideration, Harry was more than a little bit surprised to see his brother at all. Let alone to see him waiting for Harry outside of the changing room on the dark, dreary Hogwarts grounds during one of the coldest days of the year thus far.

"Can we talk?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, Charlus, we're already talking. If you mean in private, sure, we can talk. But I'd like to do it in the castle if you don't mind. It's cold as hell out here and I just got out of a warm, soothing shower, which only makes it feel even worse."

Charlus flushed, muttering something about how impossible Harry was. Or perhaps it was about Slytherins, or both. Harry wasn't sure and he did not much care either way as Charlus mercifully agreed to his twin's counter-proposal.

Minutes later, after a silent walk back up to the castle during which Charlus remained hidden under his invisibility cloak, the two twins found themselves in an abandoned classroom. Instantly, both of them drew wands. As Charlus cast the Muffliato charm, Harry waved his wand through the air, drawing tight if admittedly basic runes to conjure up a detection ward around the room.

"What was that?" Charlus asked as he stowed away his wand.

"Just a basic ward. If anybody comes near the room, I'll know." Technically, Harry would know already because of his ring, but getting into the habit of casting such wards wasn't a bad idea. Least of all when it served to further his knowledge and magical memory in regards to Ancient Runes, a subject which he was very interested in.

There was a long, tense pause between the two twins in which they both just stared at each other. Harry's vivid, emerald eyes bore into Charlus's deep, hazel counterparts. For a time, it would have appeared to an onlooker as if neither twin would ever need to blink. Finally, with a long sigh, Charlus looked away. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"

"Not even a little bit," Harry admitted shamelessly.

Charlus exhaled deeply. "I was stupid, okay? I… was stuck thinking about what you said instead of what you did. My brain kept coming back to the moment in the catacombs when Voldemort asked you to join her. It kept coming back to the way you hesitated, the way you said you wanted to."

"What's changed?" Harry asked bluntly, his expression and voice both perfect personifications of complete and utter calmness.

"I… don't know, actually. I think it's been coming on for a while, but I finally realized it when I talked with Professor Dumbledore ages ago." At the mention of the Headmaster, Harry's jaw tightened as his eye twitched. Charlus, looking ashamedly down at the floor noticed neither gesture.

"I… think when Ginny got sorted into Slytherin, I started to wake up a bit. I've grown up with her, sort of. We were never close, but I've watched her. I know she's a good person, which I think jogged my brain to think about you again. And then, when Ron started treating her… the way he's been treating her, it made me realize that I didn't want to lose my brother."

"If nothing else, I applaud you for wanting to be nothing like Ron Weasley."

Charlus winced. "He's not that bad, Harry." Harry tapped the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger three times, prompting Charlus to wince once more. "I'm… sorry for that."

"You didn't seem sorry at the time."

Charlus winced. "I… was an idiot, I guess. I don't know what to think. I… didn't take the drama well at the gala, which only made it worse." Harry snorted, clearly indicating that Charlus had understated the fact, but the Boy-Who-Lived pressed on. "Then, in Flourish and Blotts, you supported Malfoy-"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Charlus. Come on! You can't be that thick!"

Charlus blinked. "What do you-"

"Supported Malfoy? He put me in an impossible position. If I answered one way, I'd make you lot upset. If I answered another way, I'd make a whole lot of other people upset who have easy access to me for the whole school year." This time, it was Harry's turn to wince. "I… tried to give a neutral answer. I admit that it was not my best moment."

Charlus now looked taken aback. "So you don't believe in all that blood purist crap?"

"I'm a halfblood, Charlus. Use your brain, I know you have one somewhere."

"But you said-"

"I said muggles, which is an entirely different debate for an entirely different time. I would rather not talk about how I feel about muggles. If you're that bothered, let me dumb this down for you; blood purity is complete and utter nonsense. Some of the most powerful wizards in the world are halfbloods. Hell, your friend, Granger is the second-best in our year behind me. That means the two best students in the year are a halfblood and a muggleborn. I see no evidence whatsoever to support blood purity." He paused. "If you need more convincing, I… did a number on Malfoy after he called your friend a mudblood."

Charlus looked legitimately curious. "What did you do to him?"

"Bruised his rib, cut off his airways for a few seconds and warned him. I told him if he ever used that word in front of me again, he would wish to be back in that changing room."

Charlus looked very conflicted about that confession, but he chose not to comment. "Why don't you like muggles?"

"I would really rather not ruin the first decent conversation we've had in months by starting a stupid disagreement that neither of us are ever going to agree with the other person on."

"Does that mean you'll accept my apology?"

"I haven't heard an apology yet."

Scrunching up his face in annoyance, Charlus took a long inhale of breath before exhaling in a measured sort of way. "I'm sorry for being a git to you for the last few months. And for being a complete idiot and missing everything that should've been obvious."

Harry shrugged. "Close enough."

"So… are we good then?"

Harry pondered that question for almost a full minute before answering. "We are not on the same terms we left on. We're brothers, but right now, we're not friends. If I'm being honest, I don't trust you. The last time I gave you a chance, you betrayed my trust, broke your promise and then painted me as the villain for months. We start from square one. You can work to rebuild our trust and if you don't bottle it this time, we'll eventually get back to where we were last year. I'll warn you right now though, it might take longer this time around."

Charlus let the tension ease out of his body. It was the best outcome he could have realistically hoped for. In truth, the second year Gryffindor knew that it was far more than he deserved. "So…" he started, "excited for the Quidditch match?"

In spite of himself, Harry cracked a weak smile. "We haven't talked in four months, and of course, the first damn question you ask me is related to Quidditch."

Charlus laughed. He couldn't tell if it was a good start or not. If nothing else, it was certainly an amusing one.

* * *

_**October 31, 1992**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**5:46 PM**_

Harry wished his friends all the best as they departed for the traditional "Halloween feast". Just the fact that the school called it Halloween and not the Samhain feast was enough to infuriate much of Slytherin House, but it was not the reason why Harry had no interest in the evening's festivities.

Those reasons were of course quite obvious.

Eleven years ago to the day, Lady Voldemort had attacked Harry's family, killed his mother, and by extension, ruined his life. It was because of the events that transpired that night that he had grown up abandoned and abused on Privet Drive.

That was the difference between him and Charlus, Harry suspected.

While Charlus certainly felt the effects of that night, it did not have the same, dark implications that it had for Harry.

For Charlus, it was the mourning of a person he had never truly known. Aside from that, the night in question had given him fame, notoriety and prestige.

In Harry's case, it was not so much mourning the person as much as it was mourning the life he never had the opportunity to live.

Sighing, he glanced up at the clock. It had taken him approximately three minutes to realize that if he sat there, he was going to become lost in deep, depressing thoughts that would only make his already murky mood more miserable than it already was. He could try and read, or study, or a combination of the two, but he immediately knew his mind wouldn't focus on the task. Instead, it would fixate on the dark, oppressive thoughts that clung on to the edges of his mind like a dying man about to fall overboard.

There was a part of Harry that knew venturing out into the castle proper was a bad idea. Last year, that had nearly gotten him killed.

But at this point, Harry could think of few things worse than the crippling mood he was currently experiencing. After all, there was no troll to attack him this year, and no evil Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, as far as he could tell.

Of course, as he quietly walked out of the Slytherin common room, a part of him knew that the gods of irony should be left unchallenged.

Most of him, however, disregarded those thoughts completely.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in a different section of the Hogwarts dungeons…**_

"Tell me again," Ron muttered, "why exactly are we going to some ghost's birthday party?"

"Deathday party, Ronald," Hermione corrected.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, sorry, such an easy mistake to make."

"If you say that at any point tonight, there is a serious chance that somebody may actually get offended."

Ron shrugged. "It's not like they can hurt me, is it? They're ghosts."

Hermione just sighed as Charlus walked along in silence. Truthfully, he was not in the mood for any of their foolish bickering. Ideally, he would have attended the Deathday party alone. But Ron had been walking with him when Nearly-Headless Nick had made the offer.

At least it would be better than the hundreds of students that would have awaited him in the Great Hall. On this night, he preferred solidarity. Even if this wasn't exactly what he had been going for, it was at least closer than what he could have been experiencing.

Idly, Charlus wondered what his brother thought of Samhain, and what Harry may have been doing at that precise moment in time.

* * *

_**Approximately two hours later, on the fourth floor…**_

Harry noted that by now, the feast was coming to a close and he would need to quickly dress if he wanted to arrive at Weitts Manor in time for the Samhain gala.

It was with this in mind that he quickly began making his way down towards the second floor, which contained the passage concealed behind a suit of armour which would swiftly take him directly down to the Hogwarts dungeons, circumventing the needless crowds and distance in between.

As he neared the third floor, however, he froze, his eyes going wide as his entire body went ramrod stiff.

The sound was like nothing he had ever heard before.

It seemed raspy, almost as if it had not been used in a very long time. Yet, it had an intrinsically powerful air about it.

Harry could not explain it, but something about that voice scared him more than Voldemort. More than Vernon Dursley. More than anything he had ever experienced in his entire life.

"**Rip… tear… kill!"**

Harry's wand was in his hand a second later as he did a complete three-hundred-sixty-degree rotation on the staircase, trying to locate any threats. At the same time, he was focusing intensely on his ring, but it wasn't warning him of any threats nearby.

Of course, there was a part of him that instinctively knew there was no weapon in his arsenal that would give whatever this was so much as a second thought, but ingrained habits were a powerful thing.

After realizing whatever the source of that voice was had not yet beared down upon him, Harry strained his senses, trying to catch it again.

Seconds later, he was rewarded.

"**So long I have waited — too long, far too long. Blood; I smell blood! Let me rip you, let me tear you, let me kill you!"**

Harry realized that the voice was closer this time. The first time it had sounded out, he would have perhaps estimated it to be further above him. This only meant one thing in Harry's mind.

It was coming for him and drawing nearer by the second.

As fear gripped Harry's heart, he took the stairs at a flat sprint, barrelling down onto the third floor and not stopping there. The worst part was that as he ran, making straight for the passage near the out of order girl's lavatory on the second floor, Harry heard the voice sound several more times, drawing closer and closer. Then, oddly, it sounded one final time, and to Harry, it almost sounded as if it was below him. He wondered in horror, as he began to hear the sounds of students making their way upstairs from the feast, whether or not the thing was waiting to ambush him on the floor below.

As Harry flew around the corner to the second-floor girl's bathroom which had been out of bounds ever since his arrival at Hogwarts, he froze, wide-eyed at the scene in front of him, which could have been taken straight out of one of Dudley's overdramatized horror movies.

There was a puddle of water on the floor. To call it a puddle was doing it a disservice. The entire corridor was coated in it, at least two inches in any given space. It appeared as if it was seeping from under the door of the restroom.

But that was not the terrible part.

Hanging from the torch bracket on the opposite wall, very clearly limp and very possibly dead was Mrs. Norris. More disturbingly still, Harry could see no obvious signs of damage anywhere on her body.

And if that wasn't the icing on the cake, the writing on the wall certainly was.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware!_

As his mind struggled to process what he was seeing, only one, glaring thought made itself obvious to Harry.

If somebody walked in on this right now, it was going to look very, very bad.

As if the thought had summoned some sort of being forged straight from irony itself, Harry suddenly heard heavy, panicked footsteps rushing in his direction.

That was the moment in which he had a split-second decision to make.

He could either stand here out in the open and get discovered. Or he could activate his ring and go dark. The problem with the second was that realistically, he could only hold his breath for about a minute, tops. Whoever was bearing down upon the scene was inevitably going to be distracted for at least that long by the horror of the setting that awaited them, and Harry thought the only thing worse than this for him would be if he was caught attempting to hide.

He also knew that he could never make a break for it. He didn't have enough time, and the ring didn't stop him from being heard. Plus, he needed to give the password to the suit of armour, which would require him to speak. At that point, he would lose the advantage of being invisible, and his back would be to whatever student or staff member was fast approaching.

That was absolutely out of the question

So it was with that in mind that Harry waited for the person's arrival, feeling as if he were on death row. There was an infinitesimally small amount of time when Harry wished he had tried to bolt for the passage in spite of the reality of the situation.

That thought was confirmed not five seconds later when three figures skidded around the corner, and Harry could have actually facepalmed at the cruelty of it all.

"The fucking luck I have on Samhain...'

"Harry?" Charlus asked, wide-eyed, confused and scared-looking. Then, he looked past his brother and went pale as a sheet as he, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger all realized what they had just walked in on.

"Charlus!" Harry tried desperately. "I know what this looks like but I promise you, I did nothing! I was wandering the school and-" but before he could finish, Weasley had drawn his wand. A second later, Granger had followed, and both wands were suddenly trained on Harry.

"Don't move!" Hermione said forcefully as Ron began crying out, screaming about a tragic scene to draw the attention of the crowd. Subconsciously, Harry took a step towards the passageway. "You're not going anywhere, Potter," Granger said shrilly. "Stay where you are or I swear I will curse you."

Harry looked pleadingly towards Charlus, but his brother was having none of it. His expression looked stricken and betrayed.

The worst part was, Harry couldn't even blame him this time.

If the roles were reversed, Harry would never buy the excuses of somebody caught in his precarious position. It was too convenient, too obvious to ignore.

Later, he would curse himself for his lack of concentration at that moment.

As he looked away from her, Granger took that opportunity to disarm him. Before he could do so much as protest, he had been hit with a charm which stuck his feet flat to the floor and then a full-body-bind curse. The only positive was the former prevented the latter from causing Harry to fall face-first into a puddle of water.

The unfortunate thing was that in a matter of seconds, the entire school was about to walk in on the crime scene and find Harry there as the obvious culprit.

And a part of him had always known it.

Had always known that he should have left the gods of irony unchallenged.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I never liked the "dark magic addiction" trope if you couldn't tell. it makes no sense to me, so I decided to subvert it. I am actually very happy with the way I did so, and I hope you all enjoyed it. **

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, September 26th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors for their assistance this week: **

**Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	34. SS Ch 16: Raging Emotions

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I do not claim ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 16 Raging Emotions**

* * *

_**October 31, 1992**_

_**The Second Floor**_

_**7:54 PM**_

Harry stood rooted to the spot as he heard the vast crowd surging ever closer. In moments, they would be on top of him. In a matter of seconds, everything was about to go very wrong. Rapidly, he tried to think of an escape. A diversion, an explanation, a way in which he could avoid the fate that seemed to be an inevitability.

Unfortunately, he could come up with nothing.

He intuitively knew that fighting the magic that Granger had cast upon him would be useless. Even if he did somehow manage to break it, which he knew would not be the case, he would never get away. She, Weasley or his brother would curse him in the back before he got far. Failing that, judging by how close the oncoming crowd seemed to be, they would round the corner and their eyes would fall on the horror scene before them faster than Harry could make a feasible escape.

Sure enough, the front-most members of the crowd rounded the corner faster than he'd have liked. The ones who did so froze in their tracks at the rather horrific scene that awaited them in a seemingly mundane corridor. Most of the collected students' eyes leapt immediately to the limp form of the cat and the ominous writing on the wall. While this was true, many students' eyes did follow Harry. As for the seeming culprit himself, he had no idea what was about to happen. He was only certain of one thing.

If he was fortunate enough to remain at Hogwarts, the fallout from this fiasco was going to be nuclear.

More of the crowd was pouring into the corridor now, spurred on by the screams, gasps and other exclamations of those before them. The corridor was a mess. Those trying to catch sight of the atrocity were forcefully trying to plow through those in front of them. Somehow, as chaos ensued, one voice managed to make itself heard above all of the others, and it was this voice that Harry honed in on, even in his position of peak vulnerability.

"Enemies of the heir, beware. Watch out, mudbloods! You'll be next!"

If Harry got out of this sticky situation (no pun intended), he decided that teaching Malfoy a lesson and finally being done with warnings had just soared very near to the top of his list of priorities. But at this rate, as the crowd muttered and now began to point, whisper and even started to hurl obscenities towards Harry as they began to grasp what was going on, he suddenly realized exactly how slim his chances of staying at the castle were.

That thought terrified him more than any other. If he was expelled from Hogwarts, where would he go? He would never return to the Dursleys. Of that, at least, he was certain. He would sooner lie about his age and join the muggle military. He would do something, anything, but return to that hell hole.

But the uncertainty and the inevitable unpleasant events that would come along with it terrified him.

Terrified him more, even, than Argus Filch, who was currently rushing towards him with a crazed, murderous look in his eyes. The fact that Harry, still bound and with his feet stuck to the floor would not be able to defend himself against the surging squib was just the icing on the cake.

Before Filch could slam into him, a bluish shield flared between them, and Filch bounced off of the semi-transparent barrier and reared back as if shocked. Emerging from the crowd stepped Calypso and Cassius, both of whom had their wands at the ready. Judging by Calypso's expression, it had been she who had cast the protective charm. If that same expression was anything to go by, Harry was suddenly more afraid for the health and safety of the Caretaker than he was for himself.

There was also the problem that now, Calypso and Cassius were being semi-vilified by the crowd of onlookers. Just when Harry thought that surely, a full-on riot would break out, there were several bangs, each sounding like a gunshot, accompanied by an equal number of bright, white flashes. They almost resembled muggle flares. Thankfully, they were less potent.

Still, they did achieve the desired effect. That being to draw the animalistic attention of the ascending crowd away from Harry, Filch, Calypso, Cassius and the crime scene, at least for the time being. The crowd was now focused exclusively on the Headmaster, as Dumbledore strode stoically and confidently through the herd of gathered students, followed closely by professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape and Lockhart.

The crowd parted for the professors and Dumbledore led all of them straight towards Harry, Charlus, Weasley and Granger. Charlus made to speak up, but Dumbledore initially paid him no mind. He elected to pass them by altogether, gingerly stepping towards the limp cat and removing its form delicately from the torch bracket. The man took a moment to critically examine it before, with a stony visage, he turned to the gathered crowd. He didn't need a Sonorus charm for those students present to hear him loud and clear.

"All students are to return to their common rooms immediately. A full lockdown will be in effect. I offer my most sincere apologies to those who intended on leaving the castle this evening, but doing so will no longer be possible. Prefects, you will escort your house back to their respective common rooms and take roll. You will report the attendance results to your Heads of House as soon as possible. Do not leave the common room. They will come to you." Slowly, as if coming out of a trance, the Prefects began to disjointedly herd their houses together and began to martial them all from the corridor.

Only when the crowd had left did Dumbledore turn his hard stare upon Charlus. "Please explain what you believe to have happened tonight?" he asked, his eyes flickering from Charlus to Harry, to the writing on the wall and back again.

"Isn't it obvious?" Filch snarled before Charlus could so much as get a word in. "HE KILLED HER! The bastard killed her! I'll kill him! I'll string him up by the ankles and make him beg for death! I'll… I'll-"

"Argus, I would kindly ask you to cease levelling death threats upon a student. Martial law will not be tolerated no matter what the events of the night would be. Now, your opinion is noted, but I would like to hear some other perspectives on what may or may not have transpired." The fact that Dumbledore made no move to lift the binding magic still weighing heavily upon Harry only intensified the young Slytherin's seemingly perpetual desire to strangle the Headmaster.

"It was him!" Ron exclaimed, pointing furiously at Harry. "We… we heard a commotion and came quick. When we got here, he was already here. He was staring at the wall! Just standing there and when he realized we were here, he looked like he was going to run for it!"

Dumbledore turned his penetrating gaze towards Harry and then back to Charlus and Hermione. "Is this true, Charlus? Miss Granger?"

"That is what it looked like, sir," Hermione said respectfully, narrowing her eyes at Harry. It looked as if her mere stare might be capable of incinerating his very essence.

Charlus hesitated, a look of great pain coming over his face before very slowly, he nodded. With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, Harry felt his magical restraints lift. He very nearly ended up on his face, but he managed to right himself. "You will accompany us, Master Potter," Dumbledore said gravely, fixing Harry with an intense stare that practically froze him in place once more.

"My office is closest, Headmaster," Lockhart offered, glancing from Dumbledore to Harry. As bad as he knew this must look, Harry was taken aback by the look on Lockhart's face.

It was brief, but it was very obviously an expression twisted and contorted by poorly masked fury and utter, unquenchable hatred.

Harry would not be receiving Lockhart's vote of confidence.

With a nod, Dumbledore politely agreed, ushering the students and professors along. Annoyingly, Hermione, Ron and Charlus kept their wands trained upon Harry the entire walk to Lockhart's office. It wasn't like he was going anywhere even if he wanted to. It wasn't as if he could best the most gifted professors at Hogwarts. Let alone four of them at once, plus Albus Dumbledore, the supposed most powerful sorcerer alive.

Within no time, the rather morbid party of ten quietly entered Lockhart's office. As Dumbledore strode forward and carefully laid the still immobile body of Mrs. Norris on Lockhart's desk, the tension in the room grew to unbearable levels. It didn't help that every few seconds, all of the room's occupants, except Dumbledore, for now, seemed to be shooting not-so-covert glances in Harry's general direction. Most of them were outright accusatory, if not furious or loathing.

A select few were merely curious or calculating, but they were the exceptions.

After nearly burying his nose in the cat's fur for what felt like ages, Dumbledore slowly straightened up, frowning deeply as he turned to address the cantankerous caretaker. "She is not dead, Argus."

Harry couldn't help but be confused by that statement. Not dead? She certainly looked dead. Perhaps she was merely unconscious, but the way she had hung from the bracket, not to mention the blood on the wall…

"She-she's not?" Filch gasped, his eyes going wide as his body began to shake with what could have been hope, relief or an odd combination of the two.

"No, I am certain of it. For the time being, at least, Mrs. Norris has been petrified."

"Petrified?" McGonagall asked sharply, eliciting a curt nod from Dumbledore.

"Severus," the Headmaster asked, beckoning Snape forward, "If you would." Snape swept forward and withdrew his wand, taking his own turn to examine the cat. He cast numerous, complex spells, some of which seemed to be in languages more ancient than Latin. Additionally, he actually took the time to smell the cat, as well as pressing his ear to her stomach.

After a time, he too straightened up. "She hasn't ingested any potions, Headmaster. At least, she has not done so recently."

"Are there any means you are aware of that may fool the procedure you have carried out, Severus?"

"Yes," Snape admitted, "But most of them would assuredly see her in a worse state than the one she rests in now." Dumbledore nodded in understanding and beckoned his Charms Master forth. Flitwick took his own round of examining the furry victim but he too could find nothing.

Finally, Dumbledore turned to Lockhart. "Do you know of any magic that may have caused this, Gilderoy?"

"The only magics I know that could have done this would've been obvious and easy to identify. The air would have practically been singing with magic."

Dumbledore nodded. "You and I are of a similar mind then, it seems."

"How about you ask him?!" Filch screeched, gesturing frantically towards Harry, who flinched almost imperceptibly at the motion. It didn't help that his brother and his friends still had their wands trained upon him.

"I do not believe Harry to be the culprit, Argus," Dumbledore answered gently. "No student his age would be capable of magic like this, no matter how prestigious their academic standing."

"If I may, Headmaster," Lockhart interjected, "There are ways in which a younger student could have done this. There is no reason he couldn't have acted indirectly. If the legends about the Chamber of Secrets hold true, he may have only needed to find and open the Chamber. I see no reason why he would have needed to cast any advanced magic to do so."

Snape scoffed. "Headmasters and Headmistresses have spent centuries seeking Salazar's secret Chamber, Gilderoy. If it is not blatantly obvious already, none have succeeded. With all respect to Mister Potter, I do not think him capable of doing what Albus Dumbledore and many previous headmasters have thus far failed to accomplish."

"Respectfully, Severus, I think that's quite a… narrow-minded way of looking at the situation."

Snape's lip curled in distaste. "Do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Lockhart asserted. "If Slytherin was half as cunning in life as his legacy seems to suggest, it makes perfect sense that the Chamber would be much easier to find for those who are his heirs. Maybe even impossible to find if you don't share his blood." Lockhart shrugged. "Who's to say? I can think of ways it could have been done." Again, Lockhart's eyes fell upon Harry, and there was obvious malevolence in his gaze. "We have a very clear culprit who was caught red-handed at the scene of the crime. I'm not saying we should just jump to conclusions, but to assume Mister Potter is innocent because of his age is ridiculous!"

"Gilderoy's point is valid," Dumbledore conceded. "I very much doubt this supposed 'Heir of Slytherin', whomever they might be, cast the direct magic which left Mrs. Norris in her current state. More likely, some prerequisites had to first be completed to set a spiral of events into motion."

"While your fantastical theories are doubtlessly amusing to bear witness to," Snape interjected silkily, sarcasm oozing from every syllable, "You have both overlooked a rather obvious hole in your presumptions."

"And what is that, Severus?"

"Even if Potter is an Heir of Slytherin, which frankly, I would bet my wages he is not, being able to open a hypothetical Chamber that may or may not exist and knowing how to do so are two entirely different matters. Even if Mister Potter could hypothetically open the Chamber of Secrets, I see no possibility of him knowing how to do so. Doubtlessly, if a Chamber of Secrets exists at all, it is a mystery guarded selfishly by whatever remains of Slytherin's line. This would mean that however this Chamber might be accessed, it is a family secret that one would likely learn during childhood." Snape's jaw tightened. "Seeing as Mister Potter spent his childhood in a mundane, muggle home, the two of you will forgive me if I think it unlikely that the boy has been enlightened on old, family secrets from a line which he likely isn't connected to in the first place."

Lockhart looked very much as if he would argue once more, but before he could, Professor McGonagall cut sharply into the conversation. "Severus is right. There is simply no way Mister Potter would have gained access to that information. Unless there is far more proof in the future, I think the idea that he has done this is completely absurd!"

"Hear, hear!" Professor Flitwick seconded in his high, squeaky voice.

Dumbledore nodded pensively. "As much as I do think your theories about the process of these events hold true, Gilderoy, Severus's logic is rather sound, as I have come to expect over the years of knowing him. Rest assured, your insights will be taken heavily into account during this investigation, but I have a very hard time imagining that Mister Potter is responsible for the night's atrocities, at present."

Lockhart's posture was stiff but he nodded curtly. "Of course, Headmaster. You will… understand, of course, if I run my own investigations into the matter?"

"Why of course. The more experienced eyes that rest watchfully on a problem, the faster the problem will be resolved."

Lockhart nodded once more, seeming to be satisfied. Harry cast a glance in the direction of Charlus, Ron and Hermione. He knew at once that the three of them were not entirely convinced. Charlus looked more conflicted than outright hostile, but the look on his face was far from friendly. Granger was in a similar state, but Weasley seemed to be having none of the defences put forth by Harry's Head of House. Not that this was in any way surprising. Though he wouldn't claim to know much of the boy, Ron Weasley did not strike Harry as the paragon of logic, by any stretch.

"Minerva," Dumbledore spoke up, "can you kindly escort Miss Granger along with Messers. Potter and Weasley to the Gryffindor common room, please? It may also serve as a rather opportune time to receive your Prefect's attendance report."

"Right away, Albus," McGonagall intoned, gesturing for the three Gryffindors, who were still shooting wary looks in Harry's direction to make for the door.

"Um, Headmaster," Harry interrupted, trying to carefully project his voice to carry nothing but polite innocence. "Can I have my wand back before they leave? Granger has it tucked in the pocket of her robes."

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed easily and seconds later, Harry had his wand in hand once more, revelling at the immediate warmth that spread outwards throughout his body upon reconnecting with the wooden implement. Not breaking down while being forcefully restrained had been difficult. He likely wouldn't have managed it had he not had so much else on his mind. Reconnecting with his wand gave him back the feeling of control he so craved.

"Severus," Dumbledore said tiredly, "If you could do likewise with Mister Potter as Minerva has done with Charlus and his friends, I would be most appreciative." With a curt nod, Harry was led from the room by Snape as the two of them began to make their descent down towards the Hogwarts dungeons.

"If you know what is good for you, Potter, you will not repeat your mistakes from last school year."

Harry frowned, though Snape, still looking straight ahead, could not see it. "How do you mean, sir?"

"Last year, you rushed recklessly and impulsively into a situation which very nearly saw you and your twin killed. For the sake of your health and your public image, I would strongly and sincerely recommend that you stay well clear of this entire debacle as long as it may persist."

Harry nodded, actually intent on doing just that. He'd certainly made mistakes last year, but he had no interest in repeating them.

Well, something he was about to do very soon could constitute as repeating a mistake, he supposed, but that was on a far lesser scale. Besides, that situation was very different now. Unlike last year, the deck was stacked firmly in his favour. Unlike last year, he knew that retaliation was not only unlikely, but it would be potentially damning to those who may retaliate.

The main target, in particular.

"Of course, sir," he said politely, unsure whether or not Snape had picked up on his nod. The man said nothing for the next two minutes but when he spoke, his voice was modulated very carefully. To Harry, it was obvious that every word was being selected with the utmost caution and spoken with rather forced precision.

"You are, in most instances, more than a competent member of Slytherin House. Do not squander your potential by succumbing to the Gryffindor-esque idiocy which seems to have ruled your family for generations."

This time, it was Harry who deliberated and chose his next words with a high degree of caution. "Thank you for the advice, sir. I'll do my best to learn from my mistakes and do better in the future."

* * *

_**Ten minutes later, in the Slytherin common room…**_

When Harry had re-entered the common room with Snape, he had never felt more intense stares follow him. For his part, he too looked around, but the person whom he sought did not seem to be present.

Neither, it seemed, were those who seemed to commonly associate with him.

Harry glided over towards his friends as discreetly as he could. He took a seat beside Daphne, the furthest left-most seat available on the large sofa. To his right, with room to spare, sat Daphne, Blaise and Tracey. On the sofa directly across from them, Charlotte sat with Ginny and Laine.

As soon as Snape left the room, Daphne immediately rounded on Harry. Before she could begin asking her inevitable stream of questions, Harry's wand was in his hand as he ensured his typical privacy measures (the Muffliato charm and human-detection ward) were in place. Only when he was sure both had taken did he allow Daphne to begin her questioning of him.

"Harry, what happened? Did you see whoever wrote on the wall and hung the cat from the torch bracket?"

"Yeah," Tracey continued, "did they chase you there, or something? Why were you there? And what were the lions doing there? And what happened when-"

"Let him breathe, you two," Blaise cut in rather sharply, glancing between Harry and the two girls who seemed intent on starting a formal interrogation. For her part, Charlotte, who sat directly across from Harry, had also looked as if she might jump in, as her eyes had narrowed the more questions were thrown at Harry all at once. Looking a bit abashed, the two girls quieted and waited for Harry's answers.

They did not come immediately, as he sat back, pondering the night's events and choosing his words very carefully as his eyes kept up their steady sweeps of the common room.

"I have no idea who petrified the cat and wrote on the wall. It might have even been more than one person, for all I know. I'm assuming it was the same person or people who did both, but even that could be wrong. I… heard a commotion and thought I would investigate. Obviously, I did so carefully. I used my ring, so nobody could actually see me at the time."

He winced. "The problem with that is that it only keeps me invisible as long as I can hold my breath. And apparently, my brother and his two sidekicks weren't far behind me. I barely had time to realize what was going on before they came sprinting into the corridor, wands drawn and ready to be heroes." He sneered. "They didn't even give me the chance to explain. Before I knew it, I'd been bound, stuck to the floor and disarmed before I could even move."

Reflecting on that, Harry thought he would have to come up with some creative way of getting Granger back for the incident. He had the impression she intensely disliked him. Probably because he was the only one who consistently outscored her in almost every single class. If he left that jab unanswered, she might get the wrong idea and think that he was actually conceding his position to her. Which was not and would never happen.

There was also the fact that had his brain not been focused on the night's more pressing matters and therefore suitably distracted, he would likely be panicking at the feeling of helplessness he had been subjected to.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" Daphne hissed, clearly furious with him judging by the tone of her voice and the way her sapphire eyes flashed dangerously.

He hadn't been quite as idiotic as he led his friends to believe. He had not, as he'd said, chased after a commotion. In fact, he had been trying to get away from whatever the hell had been speaking of murder and dismemberment.

The problem was, he had no interest in explaining how he had actually wound up alone in that corridor. His friends were, if nothing else, logical people. He had no idea how they would react to somebody hearing seemingly disembodied voices. Years of being alone and friendless had left their mark on Harry. After one year of exploring the beautiful alternative to how he had lived the last ten years of his life, he had no intention of turning back. The thought of turning back scared him, and he would avoid it at all costs. Better his friends think him idiotic and at times reckless as oppose to mad and possibly unstable.

"I didn't expect it to be something like that. I figured it would just be some students pulling a prank or something. I thought if I was lucky, I might even be able to catch the Terrors in the middle of something. Maybe either ambush them while I was invisible or sell them out to a teacher. Not sure which one would be more satisfying, to be honest."

"I thought you told Calypso you were going to leave that be," Daphne remembered with narrowed eyes. "She said it wasn't worth the risk, remember?"

"Well yes, but I was invisible. I had no plans of getting seen by them."

Daphne opened her mouth again, probably to forcefully warn him of such actions when Harry stiffened. Draco Malfoy and his group of followers had just strode back into the common room, presumably returning from their dormitory.

"_Enemies of the heir, beware. Watch out, mudbloods! You'll be next!"_ Harry remembered.

In his estimation, he had granted Draco enough warnings. So far, he had retaliated to the usage of that slur with petty retorts. An admittedly painful but relatively harmless boil potion and forceful threats. If he was willing to shout the slur for the entire school to hear, something more forceful and direct would be required. Going off what he knew of the boy already, Harry could think of two tools that could potentially be of use. Even more so if they were appropriately used in conjunction with one another.

Fear and public humiliation.

Draco was, at his core, an extremely arrogant, self-centred boy filled with delusions of grandeur. Self-preservation was surely a strong motivator. That was, after all, why he had stopped antagonizing Harry after the dragon incident, he was sure. That instinct had probably come into play after threats by his father if Harry had to guess. And with Draco's pride and upbringing, public humiliation was probably quite near the top of the Malfoy Heir's list of worst-case scenarios.

Ordinarily, Harry would have devised an effective and probably convoluted plan of attack. Tonight was different. For one thing, he was just done with Draco Malfoy. He had been done with Draco Malfoy a very long time ago, in fact. To make matters worse, this had been an exceedingly long and stressful day. His moodiness, anger and somewhat remaining feelings of helplessness bubbled inside him, and he felt something snap. Presumably, whatever it was inside of a person which allowed them a modicum of restraint.

Oh, and there was the whole fact that it was the anniversary of the night his life had gone to shit. Understandably, that alone had Harry in a piss-poor mood and left him impatient and short-tempered.

Combined with everything else that happened tonight, the stress that he had allowed to mildly corrupt his mental state and his general disdain for Draco Malfoy, it really was the perfect storm to set Harry off.

That was not to say he'd be foolish. Perception was power, after all. Particularly in a house as brutal and politically dependent as Slytherin. Harry was going to strike Draco hard, but he would still try to do so intelligently. His hastily-formed idea, if all went to plan, would still have Draco looking like the antagonist, which would hopefully get the blond in even deeper shit with his father.

Fortunately, the world seemed to have decided that he had been cursed with enough misfortune for one night.

The path Draco took, obviously trying to score seats near the fire, had him walking directly in front of the lounge, where Grace and her friends were seated. Discreetly, Harry slid his wand into his hand once more, his eyes focused intensely on Draco.

Charlotte was the first to realize something was about to happen, which was not surprising. Her eyes narrowed and sought his own. Soon after her, Daphne too took notice. "Harry?" she asked as he dispelled the privacy measures around them. "What are you doing?"

"Sending a message," he said in a voice low enough not to carry. Then, just as Draco and his friends were walking past the lounge, Harry struck, praying to whatever force that seemed to be granting him a small, modicum of luck that his timing was on point.

It was.

Just as Draco walked in front of Grace, Harry's well-aimed tripping jinx hit him whilst he was in mid-stride. The odd timing of the curse threw him completely off-balance, and Draco fell — straight on top of Grace. More precisely, most of Draco fell right into the Head Girl's lap. His face, however, smacked straight into her chest region, causing her to wince and shove the younger boy forcefully off of her, sending him roughly to the floor, where he sat, flushing a shade of red that any Weasley would doubtlessly be envious of.

Before Draco got his bearings, Grace's eyes rapidly searched the common room. Unlike her younger sister, she did manage to meet Harry's eyes. Though he doubted she employed Legilimency of any kind, Harry did not doubt that Grace knew exactly who had caused Malfoy to make a fool of himself, and exactly who had knowingly made her a part of it.

If not for his searing anger, Harry would have winced. He had never seen Grace truly upset before. For his sake, he sincerely hoped that did not change. He had no idea what her ire would be like or how, in his case, it would manifest itself. Frankly, he had absolutely no desire to find out.

His dread at potential repercussions was cut short when Malfoy stumbled to his feet, quickly casting his grey-eyed stare frantically around the common room. Knowing that Malfoy's eyes would find him, Harry allowed a minute smirk to adorn his features, hoping that, in his current state, it would be enough to enrage the Malfoy Heir. Judging by the fact that by now, Malfoy looked as if literal steam would soon begin to billow from his ears, Harry liked his chances.

Sure enough, not seconds later, Malfoy's gaze found Harry, and his face contorted in pure, unadulterated hatred.

As much as Harry would like to strike Malfoy before the blond could arm himself, that would sort of ruin his self-defense story. Perception was important, especially if he did not wish to be vilified by the older pureblood students. His position on the house team would afford him protection, to a point, but he imagined that cursing a fellow teammate and an heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House would seriously challenge that natural protection.

After training with some of the most gifted students at Hogwarts and even the Dark Lady herself, Harry found an enraged Draco Malfoy to be less than intimidating. Indeed, he was more than confident that he need not fire the first spell to win the inevitable battle.

When Malfoy did indeed fire the first spell, he conjured the Protego shield, assuring in the process that none of his friends were caught in the crossfire.

Once Malfoy made his opening move, Harry leapt to his feet and allowed his shield to dissipate. Looking to press the advantage, Malfoy fired off another curse, one that made Harry's eyes widen.

"Exoculatus!"

Harry had intended to deflect whatever spell Malfoy was about to fire towards him. As it turned out, he had obviously underestimated Malfoy. Of course, he knew his own spell arsenal would still be far superior to Draco's, but suddenly, he was mentally kicking himself for not at least dipping his toe into the Dark Arts. Evidently, in Draco's case, daddy dearest had assured that his precious, pureblood heir was armed with some rather nasty tools. Harry wondered just how many other pureblood heirs from Conservative families that would be the case for.

So instead of blocking, Harry sidestepped. He had stepped away from the sofas his friends still occupied by now, so none of them were caught in the crossfire.

As admittedly impressed as Harry had been by Draco's surprisingly sadistic spell selection, it did not change how badly the blonde had just royally botched this situation. Harry had already been in a piss-poor mood. Now, Draco had attempted to curse him with something truly foul.

Now, he was incensed — truly and indisputably pissed off.

Harry fired off three spells in quick succession, chaining them together so only one incantation was required. The first spell, Expelliarmus, was merely used in hopes that Draco would dodge. He did. The second spell, Diffindo, was used in hopes that Draco, still being a bit off-balance from his earlier movement, would conjure the basic, Aegis Vocar shield. Harry was fairly confident that would be the only shield charm Draco knew of. It was. And finally, Harry fired a stunner, knowing that Draco would realize his shield wouldn't hold and dive hastily in the opposite direction. At that point, Draco would likely be off-balance once more, and very probably would not be expecting a fourth spell on the end of the chain. Least of all from a mere second year.

Unfortunately for Draco, he wasn't dealing with a typical second year.

Harry's well placed and perfectly set-up banishing hex caught Draco in mid-dive, hurling him through the air and causing him to slam so hard into the smooth stone wall of the common room that those nearest the fallen second year could actually hear the cracking of his ribs. If the boy had thought Harry's overpowered knockback jinx had been painful in the changing rooms, then this certainly gave him a new perspective.

The banishing hex was, for one thing, more potent than the knockback jinx. One could hurl objects at much higher speeds with it. Beyond that, it allowed for more control as to where exactly the object was being hurled. Flipendo, or the knockback jinx, simply sent an object hurtling backwards. The banishing hex allowed the caster to direct the flight of the object.

So naturally, Harry picked the wall which would place Malfoy in the plainest view of those gathered in the common room.

The impact was such that Malfoy slumped to the floor, not only winded but also dazed. His wand seemed to have fallen from his hand, and Harry stocked slowly towards him with a completely blank expression and an almost hungry look in his vivid green eyes.

"Impulsum!"

Harry chained three bludgeoning curses together in quick succession, now acutely aware of the undiverted attention the rest of the common room was paying him.

He could not have cared less.

On the contrary, he wanted them to see. He wanted them to see exactly how he obliterated Malfoy, here and now. Beyond the fact that public humiliation was going to be a fantastic way to get his point across to his chosen target, Harry hoped it would also serve as a message, at least to the younger years.

His first bludgeoning curse was well-aimed. It impacted hard against Draco's kneecap with the blunt force of a brass-knuckled punch. Harry knew instinctively that he could have done more damage. If he overcharged the spell, he could probably have exuded the force of the swing of a baseball bat. But in his hazy mind tainted by rage, he had just enough control left to realize that serious, long-term injuries probably weren't a good idea.

Anything that could be quickly healed by magic was fair game, in his opinion.

With this in mind, his second bludgeoning curse, which struck Draco in the ribs, had perhaps a bit more power than the first, though still not too near to its true potential. His third bludgeoning curse, however, had far less punch behind it. That's because the area which Harry was aiming for was rather sensitive. In an almost sadistic, self-satisfied manner, Harry internally thanked Voldemort, as odd as that thought sounded, for making him spend hours and hours working on his accuracy alone. If she hadn't, he may never have actually been able to hit Draco in the throat.

As soon as that curse impacted, Harry could practically feel the energy in the common room shift. For his part, the blond clutched desperately at his throat, struggling to breathe. Judging his own magic, Harry intuitively knew that no long-term damage had been done. It was the equivalent of a punch to the upper throat. His Adam's apple was certainly not appreciative, and it was letting him know it, but he was not at any risk of suffocating to death, or any such extreme.

As Draco struggled to raise his hands to his throat, Harry's wand was already moving in its next motion. By now, it was just himself, his magic and Draco.

Nothing else mattered. This was simply about proving a point.

"Lacero."

He made sure to aim the "dark" cutting curse towards Draco's shoulder, since he was pretty sure if enough intent was put behind the spell and its aim was true, it could take a limb. Perhaps that could be healed with magic, but Harry had no idea and was in no mood to test his luck. The spell opened a deep wound in Draco's shoulder, and blood quickly began to rush from said wound.

At this point, Daphne was halfway to her feet, realizing that her friend was in the same mental state he'd been in the day Tracey had been setup. The same mental state that had seen the need arise for her to forcefully drag him away from Malfoy, lest he do something drastic. She realized that he wasn't going to stop until somebody forced him to stop. Blaise immediately took hold of her arm and pulled her back down, muttering something along the lines of how insane she was to get in between that. Charlotte seemed to agree with Daphne, but she made no move to stand.

For one, Harry would at least, for the most part, let Daphne touch him. The same was not always true for Charlotte. And for two, she knew without having to test the theory that she would be unable to actually stop him if Harry did not wish to be stopped. Speaking once more of Daphne, realizing that her friends were not going to allow her to intervene, she started casting not-so-subtle glances in Grace's general direction, hoping that the Head Girl would step in on her behalf. Charlotte, after the Lacero curse had been cast, began to do the same. Grace looked very much as if she were about to step in when Harry cast his next spell.

"Flagrete."

A thin tendril of fire protruded from his wand, licking hungrily at the hem of Draco's robe and causing the fabric to ignite. Draco screamed openly now. He tried to roll to put it out but between his damaged kneecap as well as his several bruised and several broken ribs, it was not an easy task. For his part, completely lost in the haze of red that was his reality, Harry was already raising his wand to cast his next spell.

But he never got to cast it, and though Grace was, by now, halfway to her feet, it was not she who stopped him.

A hand forcefully closed around Harry's wand arm and it pulled it down, just as the figure's other hand reached over Harry's far shoulder and cast a jet of water towards Malfoy. Harry struggled to pull his arm free but before he could do much, his assailant had hit him with a mild paralysis hex. It wasn't a full-body-bind, nor was it even permanent. The effects would last for a minute or two if not countered. It was simply designed so that the figure, whom Harry realized a second later to be Calypso Rosier, could wrap an arm around Harry's waist and haul him from the common room before the situation could escalate further. Again, Daphne made to pursue Harry. This time, it was Charlotte's stare and a subtle shake of the head that halted her, which allowed Blaise to pull her down once more.

Calypso got Harry several corridors down and into an empty classroom and then warded and locked the door before she made a move to free Harry from his temporary paralysis. Even then, she levelled him with a hard stare before she cast any such counter. When she finally released him, Harry slumped against the wall, breathing fast and heavily as he tried to pull the raging tumult of emotions which was assaulting his mind under control

The pent up anger he had released in his attack on Draco was still crashing against his mind, if admittedly far less intensely now that the blond was out of his sight. Additionally, he did not take well to being paralyzed once, let alone twice. It reminded him far too forcefully of long, painful nights and the oppressive helplessness he always felt during them. It was a reminder of much darker times and even when Calypso's spell had been lifted, Harry was so tense that it may well have still been in effect.

Calypso had expected Harry to snap at once upon his release. She had even lifted her wand in a defensive posture, prepared to defend herself against anything her youngest friend may have forcefully thrown at her. What she was not ready for was for Harry to slump against the wall with his eyes closed as he slowly began to pull his deep, ragged breathing under control. Calypso had no idea how to react, for she wasn't exactly sure what had triggered this reaction.

Her eyes darkened as a possibility flashed through her imagination. He had been unable to respond to her letters for the first month of the summer holidays and when talks of home had arisen within their group, he had always stayed peculiarly quiet. Perhaps now, she was getting a look into why?

"Harry?" she asked tentatively, still ready to defend herself if he snapped. Instead of snapping, he reacted almost imperceptibly, nodding his head to indicate that he heard her even though he did not look up or open his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." His answer came far too quickly. Calypso knew at once it was a lie, but she decided not to press him on it. Instead, she sought to divert the conversation back to what had happened before the paralysis spell. It was perhaps a more dangerous topic of conversation, but judging by his reactions, it was likely a less painful one.

"Would you be willing to talk about what happened in the common room with Malfoy?"

Harry took one last deep breath, thanking Merlin and Morgana for Occlumency as he finally opened his eyes and looked up to meet his older friend's stare. If not for the mental control he was slowly gaining as a result of the Mind Arts, he would likely have been a shivering wreck right about now, similar to the state he had been in upon freeing himself from his bindings the night before he flipped the dragon debacle on its head. He was probably still going to be a shivering wreck as soon as he acquired some privacy, but that was best left unsaid.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," Harry said distractedly, focusing back on her.

"Malfoy?" Calypso prompted.

"Right," Harry muttered, a rather ugly looking scowl crossing his face, "Him." He shrugged. "I was done with warning shots."

Calypso raised a brow. "Meaning?"

"I've let him get off easy so far. I cost him some money and roughed him up a bit in the changing room after we had a run-in with the Gryffindors. I gave him enough chances. This was sending a message. It was hopefully the last time I'll have to remind him to keep his mouth closed."

"And what did he say to you, exactly?"

"It wasn't what he said to me. I don't appreciate that slur. Anybody who throws it around is on my shit list."

Calypso looked pensive. "I'm not advocating for the term," she prefaced, "but what is it that bothers you so much about it? You're not a muggleborn."

Harry actually had to think very deeply about that. "Blood supremacy is nonsense," he said after a time. "I'm sorry if that offends you, but it's true. Dumbledore might be a wanker, but he's probably the most powerful wizard alive right now. And he's a halfblood." Harry hesitated. "I would bet a good bit of my inheritance that the Dark Lady was no pureblood either."

Calypso's eyes widened. Harry had chosen not to refer to her as Voldemort, having no idea how that would go over. He was not certain as to her father's loyalties. Her mother, however, had died in a Death Eater raid, and she had not been an Auror. That was enough, in Harry's opinion, to call into question the loyalty of the Rosier family. As such, he chose to tread rather carefully in regards to how exactly he addressed Voldemort.

"What makes you say that?" Calypso asked quietly, not giving away her feelings on the matter one way or the other.

"If she were a pureblood, she wouldn't hide behind a fake name. For one thing, she would probably be proud of her heritage, especially if she went around preaching blood purist nonsense. And for two, it would be to her advantage if she was from some family with an important Wizengamot seat." He scowled. "But yes, the whole concept is utter nonsense. I'm so sick of getting sneered at being my mother was a muggleborn even though I've outperformed every single person who spends their time sneering at me. It's pathetic. My mother might have something to do with the reason why I hate that word so much. Don't ask me why. I know it doesn't make sense since I've never met her, but…" his voice trailed off.

"It makes perfect sense, Harry," Calypso assured him. "You don't have to explain that. I was just… curious. After what Malfoy did to Davis last year, I'm not surprised you went after him. It was well done, too. Just… be very careful not to look as if you're going after prestigious, pureblood heirs. That would probably be a very bad idea."

Harry nodded sagely. "I know. He started the fight, which was exactly how I planned it."

Calypso smirked. "Nice touch, that. I doubt Weitts will bother with a second year, either. So even if she realizes who did it, it's unlikely she'll do anything about it. All in all, very well done." She paused. "But between the two of us, learn something painful other than a bludgeoning curse, will you?"

Harry nodded carefully. "I've… looked into the addiction thing we talked about."

"And?"

"I think you're right about it, but I want to check at least one more source first."

Calypso's lips twitched. 'Check as many as you like, Harry. Just tell me if you'd like any help along the way."

"Thanks, Calypso. I'll keep it in mind.

* * *

_**November 1, 1992**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**6:12 AM**_

When Harry woke up the morning after Samhain, he felt the exact opposite of well-rested. When reflecting on the previous night, he decided that he had not slept so poorly in ages. Dreams had not been kind to him that night. Dreams of being expelled from Hogwarts, petrified and hung on a torch bracket, and even disappearing in a flash of vivid green light, and something soft and oddly comforting running through his hair. Perhaps the touch of Death right before it took him away?

Harry woke up a bit later than usual, probably in light of his dreams. Showering quickly, he exited the dorms wearing his school bag and intent on occupying the room that Voldemort had set up the year before in the dungeons. He had Calypso's birthday present within the bag. It was not explicitly labelled as a book that dealt with the Dark Arts, but Harry knew that there would be some very questionable curses in that text. She had made a rather apt point last night. When faced with a situation where he wanted to do true harm but not cripple the individual, he was rather limited in what he could do.

It was time to fix that.

As he neared the common room, Harry quickly realized via the magic of his ring that he was not the first Slytherin to rise that morning. For a moment, he suspected that Grace might be waiting for him. Whatever Calypso had said about her not getting involved in lower year drama, she didn't realize the relationship that Harry shared with the Weitts Heiress. Perhaps she was waiting to tear a strip off him for involving her in his power play with Malfoy, who had been sent to the Hospital Wing after Harry had been dragged from the room.

It said quite a lot about Slytherin House that Harry had not been implicated in any way, shape or form. They stuck very true to one of their few, unwritten rules.

What happens in the dungeons stays in the dungeons.

When Harry did enter the common room seconds later, he was not entirely surprised at who awaited him, even though it was not, as he had suspected, Grace.

"Morning, Daphne," he greeted cautiously, immediately aware of how her sapphire eyes had honed onto him as soon as he entered the room. Daphne never had trouble rising early enough to make it to breakfast, but she also very rarely awoke any earlier than was strictly necessary. Harry suspected this had something to do with the night before. He had a sense of déjà vu as he remembered what had happened the last time she waited for him in the common room at this time of the morning. That had been the day, early in their first year, when Harry had first opened up to Daphne.

"Morning, Harry. Do you fancy a walk?"

Truthfully, that hadn't been on Harry's list of things to do. "If you'll walk through the dungeons, then sure."

Daphne arched an eyebrow. "You say 'if' as though I'm afraid of the dungeons."

Harry's lips twitched. "You never know. It's not like you were ever interested in exploring the castle with me."

"That's because most of that time is probably wasted."

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Always have done."

Harry snorted as the two of them exited the common room and began to make their way down into the depths of the Hogwarts dungeons. This was the first time in ages that Harry hadn't used the secret passage concealed behind a suit of armour. He suspected this conversation would be taxing and take time, so he decided that taking the long route would be best.

They had been walking for two minutes when Daphne finally spoke. "So, what made you do it last night?"

Knowing this question was coming, Harry had his answer ready. "I was done with Malfoy. I wasn't going to put up with him anymore. I had fired too many warning shots and he hadn't got the hint."

She nodded. "He deserved it," Daphne said harshly. "He deserved every bit of it, and I want you to know that before I say anything else."

"I know I went too far," Harry said quietly. That had also been a part of his dreams last night. Mercilessly reigning magical hell down upon an opponent and not being able to stop.

"You didn't," Daphne defended him, "but you would have." Harry nodded solemnly. There was no denying it; it was the truth. "It was like that day when Malfoy framed Tracey. Do you remember what you told me about Malfoy?"

"I'll kill him," Harry quoted, knowing full well that Daphne was perfectly aware of the fact that he remembered every word spoken in that conversation.

"You meant it, didn't you?"

There was a long pause in which Harry tried to formulate an honest answer to that question. In the end, he decided on complete transparency. "I don't know."

Daphne slowed their pace and looked at him again. "Explain that. What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't know what I would have done. It… wouldn't have been pretty. I definitely wanted to hurt him very badly at that point. I would like to think I would have stopped before it got to that point, but I'm… not sure if I actually would have or not." His eyes darkened. "If not for Calypso, I have no idea how far I would have gone last night."

"Can I ask you a more personal question?"

Harry laughed almost bitterly. "Daphne, you know things about me I had never planned to tell anyone until the day I died. At this point, there is nothing more damning or embarrassing than what you already know."

Daphne frowned. "How is it embarrassing?"

Harry took a minute to ponder that. "I act well," he stated, "I always have. I've had to; it was never an option. Because of that, I don't think you realize how far out of my depth I feel around people like you and Charlotte." When Daphne tensed, Harry raised his hand. "Not because of anything either of you does. It's just… you both practically come from magical royalty. From birth, you both probably had anything and everything you ever wanted. You had friends, luxuries and everything in between. Since you could talk, you knew about magic. You've spent your life learning the ins and outs of magic, the world, politics — all of it.

"Then there's me. I was abandoned by my father, who could have given me the same life. I was shoved away with muggles who hated me and hated magic. I was kept in the dark and given nothing. Everything I had, I took. And if I was caught with it, I would lose it." He took a deep, calming breath. "I've seen your houses, both yours and the Weitts family's. If you can even call them houses." Again, a long, deep breath. "The room you saw when we left Privet Drive — the one with the bars on the windows, that wasn't always my room. Until I was ten, I slept in a boot cupboard." Daphne's sharp intake of breath vaguely registered in Harry's mind, but he did not stop.

"Whilst you and Charlotte were learning how to run the world one day, I was busy getting kicked around by muggles who don't even matter. That's why it's embarrassing, Daphne. I came to Hogwarts knowing nothing. I was so ignorant; I probably still am. I was so much less than you, or Charlotte, or Grace or Calypso or whoever else you want to compare me to-"

"Stop it!" Daphne's voice was not loud, per se. In saying that, it was forceful. Shockingly so, even. Enough so that Harry immediately stopped talking, even before he felt Daphne's vice-like grip close on his hand.

"Stop talking, Harry. This is ridiculous, all of it! I completely understand why you wouldn't want to talk about any of it, but this is exactly why you should. You get these crazy ideas in your head that are so backwards. You think you're less than me and Charlotte because of the fact our parents had money and your father is a good-for-nothing tosser? That's rubbish! That's the exact thing Malfoy would say! That's exactly why you stood up to him in the first place. It's exactly why you defended Tracey. It's exactly why every time he's said the word 'mudblood', you've ruined his life." When Harry's grip on her hand tightened for a fraction of a second, Daphne rolled her eyes. "Don't think the house hasn't noticed, Harry. I know you wanted to send a message and you know what? It worked. I doubt anybody under the fourth year will be saying that word anywhere near you anytime soon."

"It's more than that though," Harry said softly, ignoring the last part of Daphne's statement.

"How?"

He struggled and grasped for words. "While I was trying not to get kicked around like a football by my cousin, you, Charlotte, Calypso, Pansy, Weitts, hell, even Black, Nott and Malfoy were living like kings and queens. I've put in so much time to catch up, but there are still times when I feel so far behind. Not in classes," he interjected before Daphne could interrupt, "but in the world. In life." He shook his head. "It's like last night; that sums it up. I'm good with books and I don't miss much when it comes to magic. But I wasn't raised with morals. I don't understand my own emotions, let alone other people's. I have no concept of what too far is. I've always done what I could get away with. I've always done whatever it takes."

Silence stretched towards the duo, paused in the same corridor that they had shared their first heartfelt discussion more than a year ago. Neither of them noticed, as they were too completely fixated on their conversation. Still, it was odd how the world worked sometimes.

Glancing around the corridor to assure that the two of them were alone, Daphne tentatively reached towards Harry, as if to hug him. By this point, Harry tolerated being touched by Daphne. Hugs were still not something he was accustomed to, but he was too numb and lost in memories to protest at that moment. Having been prepared for it, he did not stiffen quite as drastically as he might have on most other occasions.

Daphne smiled as she pulled him closer to her, rubbing at his back in an oddly soothing manner. "See? You're already getting better. Last year, you almost jumped out of your skin when I did this. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Getting better? And I don't think you realize how amazing you actually are, Harry."

"You're better than me," Harry muttered. "I'm better at magic, but not the rest. Stuff like emotions, morals… I don't know. But it's that sort of thing that's important in life sometimes. I have no compass. What use is intelligence without a compass?"

"But don't you get it, Harry? Don't you see how much further ahead of all of us you'll be when you figure that out?"

Harry scowled bitterly. "I might never figure that out. I spent ten years having those things trained out of me."

"You will figure it out. Just like you've figured out everything else along the way. You're right. People like me, Charlotte and Malfoy had every advantage over you we could imagine. And you know what? You're already the top student in the year. Maybe the top student Hogwarts has ever seen. And unlike Granger and some others, you haven't just devoured textbooks. You actually understand how the world works. You understand how the world is actually run, you understand how to act in it, for the most part. The little things that aren't in books are things you'll learn in time. You're too smart not to.

"Don't you get it, Harry? You came from all of that rubbish and you've evolved. You've taken everything in and learned it, grown from it. You're going to do the same thing here, I know you are. Just like you did with magic. There's a reason people flock to you. There's a reason why you lead-"

"I don't lead anything," Harry interrupted. "We're equals; all of us."

"I know we are, but you know as well as I do that you're what holds it together. You're why Parkinson treats Tracey decent and fits into the group. You're why Blaise didn't go and join Malfoy and his thugs. Because both of them realized you were the better option. Yes, yes, I know what you're going to say, my family had something to do with it too. But if they wanted me so badly, they could have tried to make friends with me right away.

"We'll always be your friends, Harry. We're not going to turn into mindless followers or anything, but you are the leader. It's never been said, but it doesn't have to be." She smiled. "Those are the little, social cues you miss. But that doesn't mean we won't help. You're so good at everything else that until you figure the rest of it out, we'll happily be your compass."

Harry couldn't help it. He hated the fact emotion was seizing him and could not wait until he would be readily able to suppress it with Occlumency.

But for now, he allowed his head to rest on Daphne's shoulder. He allowed himself six long seconds of weakness, granting himself three deep breaths in and three out, all the while taking in the slightly flowery, sweet scent of her hair.

When he looked up, he had managed to compose himself once more, and he slowly stepped away from the embrace. "Thanks, Daphne," he said as sincerely as he could manage. "I'll hold you all to that."

* * *

_**Two hours later, at Potter Manor…**_

James had been rather happy with his Sunday morning, thus far. Sunday was, after all, the only day he usually had off. He had treated himself to a bit of a lie-in and had been having an enjoyable breakfast with Peter until the owl flew through the window. Initially, noticing that it was a Hogwarts owl, James suspected it to be from Charlus. But when he noticed the familiar, loopy handwriting of his one-time Headmaster, he grew concerned.

However concerned he had been, nothing could have prepared him for the contents of the letter.

His son and heir had been found at the scene of a crime connected to Salazar Slytherin himself. There was no proof implicating him and, by logical thought, it was unlikely to be him.

Dumbledore's request weighed heavily on him.

_I doubt it is a possibility you have ever considered, but I would be profoundly grateful if you run a thorough background check on your family's ancestry. I would like to be as sure as possible that there is no relation close enough to Salazar that may implicate your son as a potential suspect._

_I have seen the muggles whom he lived with and would not be at all surprised if he has developed a rather justified disdain for them and their offspring. Of course, I did not mention this last night, but it is something to be taken into consideration…_

James could hardly believe the request. It was so absurd to him that he almost wrote back telling Dumbledore how ridiculous that possibility even was. But he supposed if it was so ridiculous, he could indulge the old man.

The more troubling thing, for James, was Harry's childhood. If Dumbledore was to be believed, he may very well have reasons to despise his relatives. This seemed as opportune a time as ever to find out once and for all.

Especially with the DMLE's top detective seated not feet from him.

"Peter," James said carefully, "I… have a favour to ask."

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I am nervous about the second-to-last scene since that interaction took me more drafts than I would care to admit, so I do hope it turned out well.**

**The next chapter will take us up to the end of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. From there, the pace will speed up significantly until the end of the Yule break.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 3rd, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors for their assistance with this chapter: **

**Asmodeus Stahl and Sesc.**


	35. SS Ch 17: Snitches and Stitches

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile.**

**If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the AoC Wiki and TV Tropes Pages by following the links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow the official ACI100 account on Twitter and to check out the official website.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 17: Snitches and Stitches**

* * *

_**November 1, 1992**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**8:07 PM**_

Since the petrification of Mrs. Norris on Samhain, much of the school had willingly self-isolated themselves in the safety afforded to them by their password-protected common rooms and dormitories. For Harry Potter, this had meant a mostly peaceful existence with sporadic dirty glances mixed in now and again from those few students who had actually been brave enough to venture outside of the confines of their common rooms.

For Harry, this had been perfectly acceptable. It had meant that he had a rather productive day. After his rather emotionally charged conversation with Daphne, he'd spent quite a lot of the day practicing magic on his own time. Then, he had spent several hours exploring the castle. This was a practice he had thoroughly enjoyed partaking in during his first year, but one he had neglected thus far for much of his second. Except, of course, for Samhain night, when he had quite literally walked into the worst-case scenario. Harry was exceptionally careful as he navigated the halls of Hogwarts that next day, seeing as that memory was fresh in his mind.

To finish off his day, he had a rather busy night. Calypso, Cassius, the Carrows and himself had missed their duelling practice the night before due to the Halloween feast. In light of that, they made it a mission of theirs to make up for it the next night. Where this became murky, for Harry, was that he also had to meet with Grace. Luckily, he had convinced his group of fifth-year friends to start earlier than normal. Still, he had to come up with a convenient excuse to slip out early and slide down the hall, taking the nearest known passage that would expedite his journey down into the Hogwarts dungeons.

He wasn't naive enough to assume that none of his friends suspected anything. That was the one downside about befriending sharp, intelligent people. They were rather hard to deceive. None of them made a fuss though, so Harry was, for now, not in danger.

Well, that statement wasn't true.

Seeing as butterflies seemed to beat hard against the innards of his stomach as he remembered just how he had sent Malfoy tumbling into a rather… sensitive area of Grace's body less than twenty-four hours earlier, Harry suspected he might have been in a great deal of danger. Just not from the friends whom he had recently departed from.

When the door to the classroom they often frequented came into view, Harry reflected that he had never been this anxious to enter this particular room. When, in hindsight, he considered how many hours he had spent locked up in the said room with the most feared dark sorceress perhaps of all time, that was saying a lot. It didn't help his matter when, as he cast Tempus, still in mid-stride, he realized that he was more than five minutes late.

It was the first time he had ever been late to a session with Grace, and Harry suspected he had picked the absolute worst night to make that unfortunate miscalculation. Pulling his emotions under control as he stood in front of the door, Harry reached out for the handle, blanking his expression as he knocked three times before pushing the door aside and stepping into the familiar, well-lit room.

Grace was already present, which Harry had expected. What was more surprising to him was the fact that she didn't seem to be irritatedly waiting for him. In fact, she seemed to be paying the door no mind. She had transfigured part of the wall into a large, full-body mirror. It seemed, to Harry, like she was having a rather intense staring match with her reflection. She was so lost in whatever she was doing, that until the door closed softly, she didn't even seem to notice that Harry had entered the room.

When she heard the sound, she quickly withdrew her wand. With a swift, intricate motion, the well-polished, glass mirror morphed back into solid, seemingly ancient stone. To any who entered the room in the future, they would never realize that at one time, the stone had been anything other than what faced them. Grace's next move was to quickly cast the Tempus spell, making Harry wince imperceptibly. When her eyebrows knit together, he really thought he was in for it. Then, her next words took him completely and wholly aback.

"Earlier than I expected, actually."

Harry almost stammered, but he caught himself at the last possible second. "Really?"

Grace finally took the opportunity to examine him. "I thought there was a chance you wouldn't show up at all. I thought it was very unlikely, but still possible." Noticing Harry's posture, Grace nodded for him to take his usual seat. "Relax, Harry, I'm not bothered by you being seven minutes late. Don't make a habit of it, or that will change, but I understand why you might have been… worried. Especially considering I don't imagine you had a lot of leeway growing up." Surprised, Harry stepped forward and took his customary seat across from Grace, who spoke again a moment later.

"I did want to talk to you about last night, though."

Harry tensed, wondering which part of the train wreck she wished to discuss first. The part where he had been semi-implicated as a possible criminal. The part where he had essentially thrown Malfoy on top of her. Or the fact that seconds after the latter event, he had decimated the aforementioned prat in the process. Or, even, that said prat was still currently recovering from broken ribs, a damaged knee, and a compromised Adam's apple.

"Which part of it?"

"More than one. First of all, if it's all the same to you, I'd appreciate not being used as a pawn in second-year drama. I know exactly why you did it, but there were other ways you could have provoked him."

"I needed a way to get it done then."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "Why the hurry, exactly? You have classes with him. You sleep in a room with him. I know you wanted to provoke him so you didn't appear as the aggressor, but I could easily list off ways you could have successfully done that."

"Because if it wasn't done right then and there, I was going to curse him into oblivion in the dorm. That would have started a magical brawl, I imagine. And I doubt I would have looked like anything but the attacker if I did it that way."

Grace frowned. "Why is it that you were so upset with him that you couldn't wait? That seems… very shortsighted of you."

Harry felt annoyance pulse against his psyche but shoved it ruthlessly aside. To Grace, it probably did seem that way. She wasn't the one who had gone through everything with Malfoy over the past year. She hadn't been the one who had put up with his antics for too long. The one who fired warning shots after warning shots before finally, they'd had enough.

"That's… a complicated question. I'd given him chances, trust me. I let him off easy. I let him off not so easy and warned him. He didn't get the hint. I was done with it; I had to end it." It was nothing against Grace, but after having this conversation that morning with Daphne and having been mentally and emotionally fatigued by it the first time, Harry had no desire to repeat it once more unless the Head Girl truly pressed the issue.

For the time being, it didn't appear as though Grace intended to push him on his motives for attacking Malfoy in the manner he had. "I'll take your word for it, but my point still stands. If you can kindly keep me out of lower year drama, it would be appreciated."

"Noted, if it means anything to you, I wasn't really targeting you. I just saw the chance to make him look like an idiot. Any of you would have done."

Grace's lips twitched. "Then maybe we'll say keep my friends out of lower year drama." Harry nodded. "Well, this does change things a bit. How much have you looked into the subskills of level two? Particularly, the ones that involve suppressing and controlling your emotions?"

Harry's brows knit together. "I've read up on them a bit, but not very much. I haven't put much time into them so far."

"Make it a priority," Grace instructed. "It will come a bit slowly right now, but you should have it down quickly enough. All the magical talent in the world isn't going to help you if you can't control your mind and your emotions."

"It also helps with spell casting, right? Supplementary Occlumency, I think it's called."

"Correct, and speaking of Occlumency, we should really get started."

Again, Harry felt butterflies rise in his stomach. Tonight, they would be starting a new phase, of sorts. By now, Harry could reliably banish the weak probes Grace sent his way. He still had trouble detecting her more subtle intrusions, but when she attacked with blunt probes that were easy to detect and equally unchallenging to defend against, he could force her from his mind. Tonight, she would be increasing the strength of the connections she formed. The reason this left Harry worried was that now, there was a very real possibility that she was going to see his actual memories.

Their agreement was sound. She would quickly withdraw from the memories that loomed to the surface. Naturally, she had to linger for a time to allow Harry to defend himself. Once it became apparent he would be incapable of forcing her from his mind, she had agreed to withdraw. Along with, of course, a promise not to tell anybody what she had seen.

To his dismay, Harry found the new, more effective probes far more difficult to deal with. By the time they had been at it for thirty minutes, he still had yet to successfully force her from his thoughts even once. As she raised her wand again, he could not help but feel helpless against the spell.

That was when the lesson went downhill.

As Grace had explained it, the mind was a complex web of thoughts, emotions and memories. An infinite number of strands were constantly branching off in every direction, but the ones which were currently being used by the thinker were the ones that would present themselves for the attacking Legilimens.

Unfortunately for Harry, he had conjured up rather deep thoughts seconds before the spell had been cast.

Naturally, Grace swiftly latched onto that feeling of helplessness and before Harry could even think to clear his mind, the last memory associated with the emotion arose. That, on this occasion, was being immobilized and dragged from the common room by Calypso. The memory flashed past his eyes so fast that Harry barely had time to register it. All of the memories had done that, actually. It seemed to Harry as if they were all on fast-forward. The maximum setting, even.

Yet somehow, this one seemed to flash by even faster. The only thing he could think was how he had felt during that memory. He knew that his focus should have been on clearing his mind, but he quickly found himself distracted by the oppressive, claustrophobic feeling brought on by those emotions and their significance in regards to his past.

Just like that, the memories spiraled.

Before Harry knew it, he was eight, and a large, purple hand was clasped tightly around the back of his neck. He was forcefully shoved into a small, familiar boot cupboard. The door slammed and locked, and Harry was left alone with the spiders. Next thing he knew, Petunia was screeching at him. Screeching about his freakish nature causing problems. Heavy footsteps sounded a moment later and suddenly, Vernon walked into the room, purple-faced, livid and wielding a belt.

"NO!" Harry shouted before the scene could play out any further and before a shocked and off-put Grace could withdraw or Harry could advertently defend himself, the young Slytherin could practically feel a sensation of rushing forward as, for a fraction of a second, he was not himself, but somebody else. Instead of standing in the familiar sitting room on Privet Drive, he stood in an equally familiar room in Weitts Manor, with Charlotte and Adriana gathered near him.

Before he could see any more, the physical world snapped back into focus with jarring speed and Harry staggered back, disoriented by the confusing rush of images.

Despite his confusion, Harry knew what he had seen.

More importantly, he knew what Grace had seen.

She called after him, obviously realizing the mistake she had inadvertently made by being too taken aback by the images to pull from his mind earlier.

Her calls never reached him.

Before the Head Girl could do so much as move, Harry had spun on his heel and promptly stormed from the classroom, slamming the door loudly as he made his exit, trying valiantly to keep his surge of emotions under control.

He needed to be alone right now.

The problem was, most of his friends would know where they could find him.

There was only one secure place.

Primarily because Grace, if nothing else, shouldn't be able to enter due to her lack of knowledge. And his friends would not dare to enter while they could be seen.

Fortunately for Harry, he alone had a way to move undetected.

* * *

_**About ten minutes later, in the Speaker's Den…**_

One of these days, Harry was going to have to learn how to make himself invisible. As in, for more than a held breath at once. It had been a close call. While impossible to spot, courtesy of the enchanted ring gifted to him by Voldemort the year previous, Harry had slipped into the common room, swiftly removed his bag from the dorms, and made his way into the Speaker's Den. By the time he had entered the hidden quarters, he was gasping for breath. If nothing else, he was going to have fantastic breath control by the time he one day learned how to vanish from sight without the aid of the ring.

He'd never looked into doing that, but he suspected it would not be happening anytime soon. It just seemed like the sort of magic that would be very complex and difficult to learn. As flashy and practical as that magic doubtlessly was, Harry had more pressing matters, at the moment. These were the matters he needed assistance with.

As he opened the black journal in which he often wrote to Emily Riddle, he realized exactly how much he had come to rely on her as of late for assistance. It wasn't a bad thing, per se. The questions he was asking were complex and, most of the time, not things he would have been able to answer on his own with the current resources at his disposal. It was certainly something to note, though he wasn't about to go and spill sensitive information to her. He wouldn't be writing about the Chamber of Secrets, for instance.

But for this problem, he could think of nobody better equipped to answer his plea.

_Emily,_

_I know we talked about subskills awhile back, but something's come up. I really need to learn how to control and suppress my emotions. Like… as soon as humanly possible. Can you help me with that, specifically? Is there any way to speed up the process of learning that specific subskill?_

Harry wondered if Emily could sense the urgency with which he wrote. The swiftness of her reply, perhaps the fastest he could remember, nearly took him aback.

_There are conventional exercises to learn that subskill. Unfortunately, there isn't a shortcut to doing it. Not unless you were to have something like an eidetic memory._

Despite his rather morbid mood, Harry actually could have laughed. For once, it seemed that the gods of irony had decided to smile down upon him. Perhaps they realized that last night, they had gone a touch overboard with their scorn.

_Well… I don't really know how to prove this to you, but I actually do have a near eidetic memory._

A pause, and then…

_How very interesting. That will certainly help the process, yes. In that case, I suppose we can begin an explanation. But first, why exactly is it this has suddenly become such a high priority for you?_

Harry actually sighed; he was really getting sick of everything circling back to the Malfoy incident.

_I sort of snapped last night, you could say. I've… been going back and forth with a kid in my year pretty much since we started Hogwarts last September. And when I say go back and forth, I don't mean playground insults. We've both tried to get the other expelled. I've cost his family money and hurt their image, and he's tried to ruin one of my friends' lives. Let's just say last night, things sort of boiled over. I goaded him into attacking me in the common room and then basically obliterated him in front of the whole house. Currently, he is still in the Hospital Wing._

_I went a bit too far, but that isn't really the problem. _

_The problem is that if somebody hadn't stopped me, I'm not sure what I would have done to him. I was so lost that I barely even realized what was happening. And that wasn't the first time something similar has happened, either. Just the worst case of it. _

_That's actually one of the reasons I started looking into Occlumency._

That and paranoia, but Harry didn't share that part with his pen pal.

_Hmm… that certainly seems like an adequate justification. I hope the incident hasn't caused you too much trouble. _

_Now, for the process of controlling and suppressing emotions. It is a multi-step process. You will first have to learn to understand your emotions. The process is somewhat similar to the one you went through last year to enable the ability to detect irregularities in your mind. The meditative stage of said process, that is. Through this process, you will understand each emotion. You will learn to sense and easily identify every one of them as fast or faster than you currently do irregularities. And you will be able to identify them with perfect clarity and precision._

_The reason an eidetic memory helps with this process is that, in order to suppress emotions, you must first learn to manipulate them. You will start with simple things like anger and happiness. As you progress, you will begin working with more complex things. Eventually, you will be able to manipulate the thought patterns of your brain, not just the emotions they trigger, but that is still quite some time in the future._

_For now, I need you to think of memories for each major emotion. We will begin with happiness, jealousy and frustration. When you have a memory for each, I want you to play that memory in your mind several times. The reason your exceptional memory will expedite the process is that most people have a difficult time remembering exactly how they felt in those moments. _

_This is what you will need to do for step one. When that is done, we can begin to work on the actual manipulating of emotions, and then on to suppressing them. With some luck, this won't take terribly long. Not nearly as long as Active Occlumency, at least._

That actually sounded far more simple than Harry had been expecting.

_Are all subskills this easy to learn?_

He felt as if he could see Emily Riddle rolling her eyes, even though he had no idea what she looked like.

_Not even remotely. This is by far the most basic, even though suppressing emotions is more complex. Come stage three of Occlumency, you will learn the true complexities of some of these subskills. Fortunately, that usually means they are grander and will have more of an impact when used._

Harry shrugged. _It was worth a shot._

When Emily's response came, his lips actually twitched.

_How adorably naive of you, Harry._

* * *

_**November 2, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall **_

_**8:36 AM**_

Harry was a bit later than usual entering the Great Hall for breakfast that next morning. He had stayed up rather late the previous night in the Speaker's Den. For most of it, he had gone over theory with Emily and practiced some of the exercises she had provided. To his pleasant surprise, none of them were overly difficult. Perhaps this process really would be far shorter than that arduous undertaking that was Active Occlumency. For the rest of the time, he had read some more about Ancient Runes, finally entering a stage where they would soon be practical for him, and written to Emily about smaller, more mundane things that did not pertain to magic.

They had done this a couple of times, lately. Nothing too personal was revealed. Just little tidbits here and there.

As a result of his late-night, and considerable paranoia on his part that Grace may well have been waiting outside of the Den to ascertain how to enter, that was where Harry had slept that night. In the small but comfortable bedroom. If he wasn't so worried about the Den being discovered by other students, he thought that he would likely make a habit of it. As much as he liked Blaise, it was nice not having to share a room with anybody. Both for comfort sake and to ease his sense of paranoia, which was growing stronger by the day. The entire debacle two nights earlier had only served to validate the sense. Which, in turn, only made the instincts it spurred on more pronounced.

It was for this reason that Harry was fashionably late to breakfast the Monday after Samhain. Perhaps the inevitable reaction to his arrival was also a subconscious part of it. The Hogwarts rumour mill had been churning for the past thirty-six or so hours. At the centre of it, for once, was not the Boy-Who-Lived. In his place, his Slytherin brother was being metaphorically slaughtered for his perceived part in the petrification of Mrs. Norris.

And the worst part was, Harry could hardly blame them. If he would have walked in on a similar scene, he likely would have made assumptions, too.

Unless the person was a Slytherin.

Harry refused to believe any Slytherin would be stupid enough to linger in a corridor after committing an act like that. Perhaps Draco Malfoy would be the exception. Or maybe Crabbe, or Goyle. Harry had no idea how those two lumps had gotten into the supposed house of cunning in the first place. If the ancient Hogwarts Sorting Hat had ever made a mistake, it was one of, if not both of those two.

He approached the Slytherin table with more caution than he usually displayed. He was well aware of the fact that he was going to get a verbal dressing down from Daphne, at least, who would have wondered where he had gone. That was if Blaise had told her that he hadn't returned to the dorms. As Harry took his seat and earned nothing more than a raised eyebrow from his closest female friend, he immediately realized that Blaise had kept his secret.

Conspiratorially, Harry shot a brief, subtle smile towards Blaise, who nodded his head minutely in return.

"Practicing, I'm assuming?" Daphne asked. Harry was just going to have to assume that Blaise had gone with the story that Harry had been gone when he had awoken. Which actually did happen on most days, so it was a rather believable cover story.

"Technically, I was studying." It was a partial lie, one referencing his work on Occlumency and Runes from the previous night. "I didn't cast any magic, but I guess you're close enough."

"Do you ever stop studying and practicing?" Tracey looked exasperated.

Harry shrugged. "I enjoy magic. It doesn't feel like work for me." That and he was steadfastly set on his goals. If his hellacious treatment at the hands of the Dursleys had taught him anything, it was how to attack a mission with singular, unbreakable focus.

"If you say so," Tracey said, looking as if she could not, for the life of her, understand her friend's philosophy on the matter.

"I don't suppose you've seen the paper?" Daphne asked, sounding rather cautious.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Seeing as I've been in the dungeons all morning, no, I haven't. I'm taking it something in there is interesting?"

Cautiously, Daphne slid her own copy over towards Harry, who looked at the front page. Then, he blinked, his eyes unbelieving at the blaring, boldly lettered title.

_**Mystery Man, or Mishandled Evidence?**_

_**A Criminal Is Walking the Halls of Hogwarts!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

If this rather eye-catching title wasn't enough, the picture which dominated the front page certainly was. It was Harry at Charlus's birthday gala. In the picture, he was shaking hands with his father in greeting. His smile was wide and charming, but Harry alone knew it to be equal parts fake and artificial. With clinical precision, Harry began to read the article.

_It appears as though terrifying events have taken place this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. According to multiple inside sources, the night of Samhain was not such a wonderful occasion._

_After the traditional feast held each year at Hogwarts, much of the student body stumbled into a second-floor corridor to find a most horrific scene awaiting them. The Caretaker's cat was found, completely still and lifeless, hanging from a torch bracket. Written on the wall was an ominous message from a supposed heir of Salazar Slytherin, warning those of less than noble blood._

_Currently, no culprit has been caught, but that is not to say there is not at least one primary suspect._

_When students poured onto the scene that night, they found that Harry Potter, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, was being held at wand point by his younger twin, Charlus Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and two of the latter's closest friends. According to the same earlier sources, Charlus and co. seemed to indicate that they had heard a commotion and rushed to the scene, only to find Harry Potter supposedly studying his handiwork._

_This is not the first time the Potter Heir has found himself in drama whilst at Hogwarts. In just his first year, Heir Potter was caught up in a scandal that saw the heirs of several Ancient and Most Noble Houses charged with levelling false accusations. All of whom pleaded guilty this past July._

_Is it perhaps possible that Harry Potter was not quite as innocent as we all might have thought? Certainly, two bouts of major drama, both of which about cases that fall under the criminal variety by the age of 12 are troubling. Either Harry Potter has a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and this is all one, massive coincidence, or perhaps the black sheep of the Potter family really may be going the path opposed to his brother and father._

Harry slid the newspaper pensively back towards Daphne with a thoughtful expression on his face. "What is it?" Blaise asked with a mix of caution and confusion.

"I'm not sure, it just seems a bit off to me. She spent the end of last school year and most of the summer slandering Malfoy and the others. Now, she's done a complete one-eighty. Maybe it's just good for gossip, but it seems a bit odd. Especially since that last paragraph even hinted that she might have been wrong about last year. I know nothing about journalism, but admitting you were wrong about anything seems like a terrible PR move."

"For real journalists, it would actually help to keep their credibility," Daphne explained. "It's not Skeeter's style though, I'll give you that. She finds that line in the sand and runs straight through it. For her to walk back the other way is a bit strange."

It was certainly curious, but Harry didn't see it as detrimental, per se. it was one bit of gossip about a twelve-year-old. How it had made the front page was positively beyond him. If more articles like this one came, then problems might arise. For now, there was little he could do but hope this supposed Heir of Slytherin was caught.

Judging by the past idiocy of the Hogwarts staff, there was a part of Harry that was distinctly unsure how likely that event was to come to fruition.

* * *

_**November 4, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:49 AM**_

That Wednesday morning had been the first time Harry had been near Draco Malfoy since their one-sided duel the night of Samhain. Incidentally, it had also probably been the quietest Harry had ever seen the blond be for an extended time period. During the practice, he did not so much as meet Harry's eyes. Nor, even, did he boast about the top-of-the-line brooms his father had purchased for the team. The hilarity in all of this, for Harry, was that it was perhaps the team's best practice all year thus far. In his opinion, this was the world trying to send Draco a message.

Things tend to go better for you when you're not being a complete and utter git.

The practice had gone so well that Bletchley, who was nothing short of a strict task-master at the best of times, decided to call it off a bit early. This meant that the team actually made it to breakfast before the start of the first period. Granted, they made it with less than fifteen minutes to spare. Normally, they had to rush straight from the pitch to their first period classes. Oftentimes, one or more members wound up being late. Snape had fortunately written all of them notes to excuse their lateness on account of their early morning practice.

Because of this fact, Harry's friends were pleasantly surprised when he dropped into the only available seat left at the table, the one beside Charlotte and across from Pansy.

"You have a letter," Charlotte informed him at once, grabbing a hold of her handbag and withdrawing a slip of parchment from within. "I haven't read it, but I know what it's about already. They all watched me take it." The thing left unsaid here was that the latter fact validated her claim of not going through his mail.

Harry took the letter from her and opened it neatly, recognizing the cryptic crest of the Weitts family. One comprised of a river, a bridge, a tree, and a motto written in some dead language that Harry had once already failed to translate. There was another crest, as well. This one, Harry recognized from his copy of _Nature's Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy. _

It was the crest of the Greengrass family.

_Heir Potter,_

_We understand that along with many of the heirs invited to the gathering, you were unable to attend our annual Samhain gala on account of the events that took place that night at Hogwarts castle. Though the gala went on, we do plan on remedying this inconvenience._

_On behalf of House Weitts, we would like to formally apologize for the inconvenience, even though we are of course aware of the fact that we could have done nothing to prevent it._

_After discussions with our close allies, we have decided to co-host a gala on the 31st of December that will be held at Greengrass Manor. So, on behalf of Lord Greengrass and the rest of his family, as well as House Weitts, we would like to formally invite you to yet another gala put on by our family. _

_Please return this owl with your answer no later than December 1st._

_We hope to see you on the eve of the new year._

_Regards,_

_Sigmund Weitts_

_Regent of House Weitts_

There was a part of Harry that simply wanted to ask Charlotte whether or not she could just respond on his behalf. Of course, that would not be proper, formal etiquette. If Daphne was being honest about her mother and her knack for enforcing the policies of high society, Harry didn't think responding in such a manner would be appropriate.

As such, he spent the remainder of his breakfast penning his reply letter. He spent so long, in fact, that the first years, who had a lengthy walk before them, had already left by the time he'd finished what he considered to be a passable reply.

* * *

Charlotte, Ginny and Laine were near the marble staircase when they heard the shout from behind them. Fearing that they would be ambushed once more, Ginny quickly went for her wand. Charlotte, on the other hand, knew better. No self-respecting Slytherin would scream bloody murder at their would-be victims seconds before an ambush. In the week leading up to a heated Quidditch match, especially with the tension in the school that hung heavily in the air after the incident on Samhain night, she supposed they may be about to get attacked by a Gryffindor, though she didn't think they would be foolish enough to do it in such a packed corridor.

It turned out that she was half-right.

It was indeed a pair of Gryffindors that marched up to the group of them. One was Ron Weasley and the other was Charlus Potter. The latter looked slightly unsure why he was there in the first place, and the former looked as if enough steam was billowing out of his ears to power the Hogwarts Express.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Ginny?!" the youngest Weasley son swore loudly. Charlotte expected, at least in part, for Ginny to shrink back. To her surprise and mild delight, she was proven wrong. Perhaps she was more comfortable with confrontations that involved her brothers. After being locked up in a tight, confined space with a large number of them for eleven years, Charlotte would hardly blame Ginny if that was the case.

At the moment, she was simply content to watch the younger Weasley's fire. That was not to say her hand did not rest carefully close to her wand. She was ready to jump in on the behalf of her most unlikely friend at any moment when the situation seemed to call for it.

Ginny was not yet flushing quite as red as her older brother, but it looked as though she may well get there in time.

"What am I doing, Ronald? What the hell are you doing? Harassing your little sister in the hallway again? Are you going to punch _me_ this time?"

"I'm trying to help you! What are you doing sitting with Slytherin Potter? He's the Heir, Ginny!" Charlotte very badly wanted to interject, but she managed to hold her tongue.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron-"

"Ridiculous? We saw him, Ginny! We walked in on the tosser! He was standing there, looking at his handiwork."

"That is the single dumbest thing I've heard all day," Charlotte snapped, no longer able to contain the rebuke. "If Harry is the Heir of Slytherin, then that makes the golden boy here his descendant as well." Charlotte turned to Charlus, who looked very uncomfortable. "What do you think, Potter? Is talking to snakes a favourite pastime of yours?"

"Don't listen to her, Ginny! Don't listen to any of them, especially not Slytherin Potter. Even his own brother knows he's going dark."

"And you think just because I'm in Slytherin that I'm going to become some sort of dark lady?"

"That's what I'm trying to stop!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm done with you, Ron. Get out of the way." When Ron refused to budge, Ginny tried to push past him. The much taller, much larger boy stopped her easily, taking a firm grip on her arm and cornering her against the wall, forcefully ensuring she didn't get away. Before he could do anything further, a ringing sound like a clap swept through the corridor. When those in the vicinity looked around, their attention drawn by the sudden sound, they saw Ron Weasley staggering back, a hand to his cheek as Charlotte Weitts pulled back her own hand.

To call it a slap would be doing it an injustice. Every bit of disdain the youngest member of House Weitts had for Ronald Weasley was put into that one motion, and the impact was such that Ron almost stumbled. In the moments following the resounding impact, Charlotte reflected, with some satisfaction, that she thought she might have actually hit Weasley harder than he had managed to hit Harry two months earlier.

Ron's immediate response, once he seemed to have recovered enough to think, was to step menacingly towards Charlotte as if he were going to hit her back. Halfway forward, he seemed to realize exactly what he was doing, and he froze.

That moment of indecision cost him dearly.

Charlotte didn't even bother to draw her wand. She didn't need it for this. If anything, it would only slow the process. She took a powerful stride towards Weasley. It looked as if she would step right into him. But at the last, possible second, she brought her knee up, hard, driving it with forceful precision into Ronald Weasley's nether regions.

There was an astonishingly brief moment in time when Ron Weasley's eyes seemed to roll back in his head as his jaw fell open. A strangled groan of pain was all that escaped before he crumpled to the floor in a heap, quickly curling into the fetal position. For his part, Charlus had looked very much as if he would step forward to assist his friend a second earlier.

All of a sudden, he did not look so eager.

Charlotte bent low over the crumpled form of Ron Weasley, whispering low, menacing words to the wounded boy before moving on with her friends. "I'm done with you hurting my friends, Weasley. Next time, I'll make it permanent."

Her parting message delivered, Charlotte straightened up once more, gesturing for an awestruck Ginny and an amused Laine to follow her towards their first-period class. It would be rather unfortunate if they didn't leave before a teacher arrived on the scene. Luckily for them, as they departed, no teacher's eyes followed them.

Instead, the pair of eyes that honed in on them were brown, and belonged to a set of boys who had been lurking in a hidden alcove, wearing Gryffindor robes.

* * *

_**November 6, 1992**_

_**The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom**_

_**2:29 PM**_

As the second year Gryffindor class began to pack their things away just before the bell was set to ring to signal the conclusion of their most recent lesson with Gilderoy Lockhart, the aforementioned professor's voice clearly rang through the room.

"Mister Potter, I would appreciate it greatly if you were kind enough to stay behind." Charlus exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione before shrugging. In the end, his friends decided to wait for him out in the hall, seeing as this was their last class of the week. Charlus, for his part, made his way rather warily in the direction of his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He had nothing inherently against Lockhart, aside from the awful detention he had been forced to endure at the man's hand, but something about the way he stood so casually tipped Charlus off that something was certainly about to happen.

"You wanted to talk to me, sir?"

"I did," Lockhart affirmed, discretely casting several more privacy charms on his already warded classroom door. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Samhain."

Charlus's posture stiffened. "What about it, sir?"

Lockhart frowned. "Maybe I should amend that statement. I wanted to indirectly talk to you about what happened on Samhain. What I actually want from you is some information that might help me catch whoever the hell is behind this."

Charlus looked confused. "Why do you think I can give you helpful information, Professor?"

"Because what I need is information on the Potter family."

If Charlus could become tenser, he accomplished it. "Why do you need that, sir? That's… not something people go around asking for."

"I'm aware. I think you'll also admit that usually, people don't go around petrifying living things." Grudgingly, Charlus had to admit that the man had a point. "But yes, I know it's a personal question that I really have no right to ask. The problem, as I see it, is that there is only one real suspect at the moment."

"You mean Harry, don't you?"

Lockhart's frown deepened. "I know it might be hard for you to see, but your brother is the only option right now. I'm not saying that he did it. It's way too early to tell for sure. But we have a lead. We need to look into it. That way, if it is him, we can stop this nonsense early and prevent it from going any further. The last thing we need is a student to get attacked; the cat was bad enough."

Lockhart fixed him with a rather intense stare. Idly, Charlus thought those deep blue eyes were odd to have fixed upon him in such a manner. He was used to seeing Lockhart pose and preen for the cameras. He was certainly not accustomed to the man peering at him so intently that he may well have been trying to read the Gryffindor youth's inner thoughts. "Unless you think it's impossible your brother is responsible."

Charlus wanted so badly to believe that. There was nothing in the world he would have liked to believe more.

But he couldn't.

It was all adding up. His brother's sorting had been problematic if admittedly not detrimental. Then, there had been the incident in the catacombs. As logical as Dumbledore's argument had been, a part of Charlus still whispered about the dangers of trusting his brother. Even if he had ignored that, there had been the incident at Flourish and Blotts. Harry had a well-articulated defence for that, but naturally, any true Slytherin would.

This most recent offence was by far the most heinous. Being caught red-handed at the scene of the crime was something else altogether.

His sense of suspicion was higher than ever in regards to his brother, and that fact made him irrationally furious.

"No, sir," he eventually settled for, "I can't tell you that."

Lockhart nodded, seeming to be completely nonplussed by his answer. "Well then, to business. I've no idea if the ability has anything to do with the petrifications themselves, yet, but do you know what a Parselmouth is, Mister Potter?"

"A person who can speak to snakes. Voldemort was one."

Lockhart nodded sagely, and Charlus could not help but notice that Lockhart didn't even so much as bat an eye at the Dark Lady's name.

"She was, yes. One of the many reasons why witches and wizards far and wide refuse to speak her name, even to this day. She isn't the first Parselmouth in Magical Britain though. The ability, at least in Britain, can be traced back to Slytherin himself. Assuming this attacker of ours isn't bluffing, they'll be a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin. That means they'll probably be able to speak to snakes because of their blood connection to Slytherin." Lockhart's gaze had turned intense once more. "Can you speak to snakes, Charlus? I need you to answer me one-hundred percent honestly. What you tell me will never leave this room, but it is vitally important in tracking down this Heir of Slytherin before things get out of hand."

"No, sir," He hadn't exactly spent a lot of time trying. Snakes didn't typically lurk around Potter Manor, for one thing. But the idiocy of it. The whole thing was obvious.

He was a Potter. They had no blood connection to Slytherin.

Lockhart's face was impassive. "And no known connection to Slytherin?"

"No, sir."

"Can you do me a favour, Mister Potter? And promise me honestly to do it to the best of your abilities?"

"That… depends on what the favour is."

"Alright then. I need you to look into your family history. Not just reading _Nature's Nobility_, but actually looking into it. Maybe get your dad to send you some books from your manor or vault talking about your ancestry."

Charlus's eyes narrowed. "You don't believe me?"

Lockhart chose his next words very carefully. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's the fact that the Potter family is known for its secrecy. It has been for generations. All I'm saying is that if you, and more importantly, your brother somehow are connected to Slytherin, I don't exactly think your family would advertise that information." He fixed Charlus with a more easygoing expression. "Besides, chances are you have nothing to fear. Best case scenario, you're right. Worst case scenario, we have our culprit." He gave a deep, belly laugh. "It's a win-win situation, after all."

* * *

_**That night, after dinner, in an abandoned classroom...**_

For all the things Charlus currently despised about his twin, one thing that he had to grudgingly envy was his smooth ability to talk his way out of situations. Charlus deeply wished he possessed that talent. It would have made slipping away from Ron and Hermione far easier.

To amend that statement, it would have made slipping away from Hermione far easier.

Ron had actually been quite easy to shake off. He had been rather disheartened when Charlus showed no interest in a game of chess, but otherwise, he put up little fuss. Hermione, on the other hand, was far more inquisitive. His default excuse had been schoolwork. The problem with that was Hermione, in typical fashion, was off to the library, and she persistently insisted that Charlus accompany her. Charlus had been forced to say it was their Defence paper. It was the only subject he was actually better in than her, so he had, with some difficulty, managed to convince her he did not need written material.

In the end, he had indeed managed to slip off back to the abandoned classroom he had frequented ever since getting the letter that first morning back at Hogwarts, even though he'd been unable to read it until that night.

* * *

_**The Past**_

_**September 2, 1992**_

_**The Gryffindor Dorms**_

_**10:23 PM**_

Charlus's first day back at Hogwarts had been surprisingly taxing. He had performed well in his classes, which, after spending more time than ever before studying over the summer, he was grateful for. Being back in the perpetually turbulent atmosphere at Hogwarts was taxing nonetheless. It was nonstop, ever-present motion. So much so, even, that until now, Charlus had not been able to open the letter he had received at breakfast. Then, he had taken little more than a glimpse of how discrete the envelope was. Finally, hours later, protected in the privacy of his bed, Charlus finally opened the letter.

_Potter,_

_I may be unable to continue your in-person education whilst you reside in the castle, but I still plan on ensuring your progression from afar. _

_You will continue to work on the stances, forms and spells we have worked on while you are at that school. Every month, I will send you four new spells. If maths is not your area of expertise, that means I expect you to master one spell a week._

_Remember, magic is about intent. If you still lack the necessary intent, continue to force the spell with raw, powerful emotions. Conjure them up with images if you need them. The important thing is that these spells and the mindset you require to cast them become second nature to you._

_Best of luck at school._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Bellona_

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

Charlus actually had kept up sternly on his regiment. He had made excellent progress, even. He did often feel rather angry after practices. Morbidly so, even. Why this was, he wasn't sure. It certainly was not his performance. He had decided long ago to push it to the side. All that mattered was improving so that in the future, he wouldn't need to rely on others to solve his problems.

Unfortunately, he had run into a roadblock as of late.

When Dumbledore had convinced him to forgive his brother, the image he used to spark anger inside of him was suddenly less effective. It was still usable, but barely. It took a much larger effort to spark the raw emotion needed, but he could still do it. After the twins had pranked Harry and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, conjuring up the anger had been nearly impossible. And after he had properly reconciled with Harry, it became completely implausible.

But now, as he squared up to a target that Mr. Bellona had discretely sent him one night via several owls, Charlus thought that once more, he might have the ability to cast using his original image. He felt as if a dragon was roaring contentedly inside his chest as if at long last, it had been freed once more. He felt as if a restrictive dam had been broken and finally, the bottled-up emotions inside of him could flow freely once more.

"Lacero!"

With a vicious slash, Charlus cleaved the dummy's arm straight off with enough force to send it spinning through the air.

Yes, it was definitely safe to say that once more, less than twenty-four hours before he was supposed to suit up against him on the pitch, the thought of his twin brother gave Charlus enough of a motivation to cast the more questionable curses that Mr. Bellona had armed him with over the months.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the hidden passage under the marble staircase…**_

When Ginny, who had dinner early and was consequently alone, heard the exclamation as she made to walk up the marble staircase, she very nearly set a new world record for the high jump. At least, that was what it had felt like at the time. Then, with a fair bit of surprise, Ginny saw two familiar faces awaiting her.

"Fred, George?"

"Yeah, yeah, those are our names. Don't wear them out."

"While you're at it," the other one chimed in, "get in here, will you?" Then, Ginny realized that they appeared to be standing in a passage leading under the stairs, holding a very subtly placed door open.

Slightly apprehensive but willing nonetheless, Ginny stepped swiftly forward, vanishing with the twins into the secret passageway as they closed the door behind them. Before Ginny could speak, both of the twins removed their wands with gusto, taking it in turns to hurl privacy spells at the door they'd just closed. When the two of them were sufficiently satisfied with their privacy measures, they turned to Ginny.

"Come to talk, have you?" She wondered if this would have been her reaction to this situation a few months ago. She didn't think so. Ron had been right about Slytherin changing her, just not in the way he had meant. Already, she felt more confident. Part of that, she knew, was because of the people who she spent time with. But part of it was having to learn and adapt to the complexities of the house itself. Ginny knew that still, she was very far from completely adapted. Despite that, she had already come a long way. In her opinion, if all of that had been achievable, then the sky was the limit for what she could do.

Just surviving had been a confidence boost in and of itself.

Perhaps it was showing, for both of the twins suddenly looked intensely unsettled. "We've really bottled this one, haven't we?"

"If by 'bottled this one' you mean avoided me like the grim for the past two months, then yeah, you two have really bottled it."

The twins exchanged looks. "Are you willing to hear us out?" George asked, his voice an odd mix between hopefulness and dread. After a brief moment of contemplation, Ginny nodded, prompting the twins to exchange looks before George took the lead.

"Look, Ginny, I don't really know how to say this."

"I do," Fred interjected. "We're idiots. Complete and utter idiots." He winced. "Gits too, while we're on the topic."

"We'll go with idiots for now," George decided. "It works better for this whole explaining thing. Well, here goes nothing. We didn't think there was a ruddy chance in hell you'd be sorted into Slytherin. The thought never even crossed our minds. When it happened, we were flummoxed. Had no idea how to take it, either of us. The only experience we have with snakes is on the Quidditch pitch. Obviously, the lot of them are wankers there."

"Complete tossers," Fred agreed. "At first, that's where our heads went. We weren't sure whether to yell at you, prank you back into reality, or offer help defending you from the gits in your house." Ginny wasn't sure if she should have been touched or offended by that. Nonetheless, she still stood quietly, allowing the twins to finish their seemingly somewhat prepared monologue.

"Then, we realized that everyone in the house probably isn't Flint and the other wankers we've played against. We realized that just because you were in Slytherin didn't mean you were a git or anything."

Ginny sniffed, trying very hard to conceal what she was actually feeling. "How brilliant of you."

The twins exchanged another nervous glance before Fred picked up the tale. "Right, well, anyway, we figured that out, but it didn't really help us. We're… not good at the whole emotions thing. We never really have been. We're good at making people laugh and we're pretty decent at magic. We like to think of ourselves as clever little devils as well, but that's another topic altogether." In spite of herself, Ginny's lips twitched, which seemed to spur the twins on.

"Because of us being useless at emotions, we had no clue how to approach you. Thing is, we didn't want to make the whole thing worse. Usually, our answer would be to do something funny. Make a joke out of it, you know. Problem is, how the hell do you make a joke out of something like this?"

"You don't," Ginny supplied neutrally and both of the twins nodded in agreement.

"So," Fred picked up, "in our infinite wisdom and pratiness, we decided to ignore the situation. If you came to us, we couldn't botch it that bad, could we?" He shook his head. "What we forgot is that you took after Mum and honestly, us. Stubborn thing, you are. By the time we'd realized you weren't gonna come to us, we thought it was too late."

"And then Halloween happened," George supplied. "And… other stuff. We realized how bad the divide was between you lot and the rest of the school. It made us realize that by ignoring you, we were being even bigger prats than we would have been had we come to you and royally screwed things up. At least then, we would have made an effort."

"What my dashing, but slightly less dashing than me, brother is trying to say is that we're really sorry, Ginny. The three of us have always been closest, even with the age difference. At least after Charlie moved out, anyway. If anyone should've been looking out for you, it was us."

"I thought that too, you know," Ginny said quietly. "I thought for sure that the two of you would be the first ones to talk to me." She snorted. "I definitely didn't expect Percy to be the first, at least. And you know what? He was right. He gave me his thoughts on everything at the beginning of the year and he nailed it. He said you two were prats and idiots, but not outright gits. You just had no idea what to do."

"Well, we've definitely acted like gits, but he nailed the parts about being idiotic, clueless prats."

"That's us in a nutshell," George agreed. "Funny, idiotic, clueless prats, but idiotic, clueless prats nonetheless."

Ginny could not help but smile despite everything that had happened. Their silence had been the most painful thing for her. Even worse than Ron's outright scorn. Even with the age difference, they'd been close. Not exceptionally so, but the two of them were certainly the most similar to Ginny in the house. She had always gotten on with them better than anybody else.

"So," George asked tentatively, "You being a snake and all now, how much is it gonna take for you to forgive us two idiotic, clueless prats?"

"Us funny, idiotic, clueless prats." Fred amended.

Ginny smiled. "An apology and a hug will do. I missed you two!" After a brief moment of shocked incredulity, the two twins smiled warmly, genuinely smiled and converged on their little sister. It was a rather touching moment as all present members of the Weasley family exalted in their reunion.

* * *

_**November 7, 1992**_

_**The Quidditch Pitch**_

_**9:30 AM**_

The morning of his first-ever Hogwarts Quidditch match, Harry was presented with yet another form of motivation to learn how to control and, in this instance, suppress emotions.

He was nervous — more nervous than he had ever been in his life.

It had taken quite some time for him to even rise from the bed that morning. He was an ambitious and competitive person. He knew that the entire school expected Charlus to beat him to the snitch. In the grand scheme of things, it was his brother who had everything to lose and nothing to gain. Yet, he could barely stomach the thought of losing to his twin. Least of all after the events of the past week. He was furious with Charlus and his friends already. If he had to look his brother in the eye after the events of Samhain, plus a crushing defeat in Quidditch, Harry was unsure if he could ever live it down.

At breakfast, he had valiantly tried to eat nothing at all. He thought whatever he put down was certain to come back up anyway. Harry sat very near the centre of the table with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team. None of them had much success in convincing him to eat. It had been Grace, sitting nearby them in the dead centre seat at the table, who placed a small plate of food in front of him. The two of them had shared a very brief staring match before finally, forcefully, Harry managed to get down the minimal amount of food.

And then, before he knew it, he was sitting in his cubicle within the Slytherin changing room. He was already fully kitted in his team uniform and his Nimbus 2001 rested on his lap, holding itself perfectly balanced as it seemed to defy gravity. Harry had often heard the expression that one got butterflies in their stomach. The truth of the matter was that it wasn't an intense enough idiom. Perhaps a more apt phrase would be that a live gryphon was trapped within the depths of his chest and stomach. The gryphon, in its bid for freedom, was forcefully trying to tear through the wall of flesh and muscle that kept it contained. It was admittedly more morbid, but it was also more accurate.

The atmosphere before a major, high-pressure sporting event, was far more intense than that. Something as small and innocent as a butterfly could never convey the true weight of exactly what an athlete felt seconds before stepping up to perform.

Sooner than Harry would have liked, Bletchley was calling the team to congregate near the exit of the changing room.

Their cue to take the pitch drew near.

After a fairly rousing speech from their captain, the other six members of the team joined him in waiting at the exit as finally, the magically magnified voice of Lee Jordan echoed through the stadium, reaching their ears even from their place in waiting.

"Students, staff and honoured guests, welcome to the opening match of the 1992-1993 Hogwarts Quidditch season!" A roar of eager approval accompanied Lee's grandiose introduction and he didn't speak again until the crowd quieted. Having been friends with the Weasley Terrors for so long, it came as no surprise to Harry that Jordan had a flair for the dramatics. Whatever multitude of negative things he could say about the infamous twins, that was one attribute he grudgingly had to concede that they possessed in spades.

"This season opens in dramatic fashion, as the school's biggest and most heated rivalry comes to head this morning, out on the pitch! It will be Gryffindor versus Slytherin!" Again, a roar of approval from the stands. "Now, allow me to introduce the Slytherin Quidditch team, who have won seven of the last eight Quidditch Cups here at Hogwarts despite a disappointing finish last season." It sounded very much to Harry as though the first half of that statement was physically painful for Lee Jordan to speak aloud. He suspected that part, at least, had been scripted for him.

"Welcoming the Slytherins! First, their captain, wearing the jersey number one, it's Keeper Miles Bletchley." With one last, hard look to the rest of the team, Bletchley mounted his broom and rocketed out onto the pitch, flying straight out of the open mouth leading into the stadium.

Apparently, Jordan was not the only one with a flair for the dramatics.

"The Slytherin beaters, numbers two and three respectively, Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick!" Both hulking boys followed in Bletchley's footsteps and Harry's heart rate quickened as he realized only one more position would be called before he made his first, public appearance within the ancient castle's stadium.

"Next up, the chasers! Numbers four, five and six in that order, Cassius Warrington, Draco Malfoy and Adrian Pucey!" The three chasers shot out onto the pitch next. Before leaving, Cassius, his face a stony visage of competitive concentration, gave Harry one last, encouraging thumbs up.

"And finally, making up one half of the most interesting duel Hogwarts will likely see this year, we have Slytherin's new seeker! Number seven, Harry Potter!"

Harry too mounted his broom, and as if watching it happen from a third-person perspective, Harry felt himself flying forwards and before he knew it, he was out in the frigid, November air, joining his team in a lap of the pitch at top speed.

The noise from the stands was deafening already and the game had yet to even begin. As he'd suspected, Harry quickly ascertained that most of the school was vehemently routing against them. He suspected that the recent claims of an Heir of Slytherin being responsible for the mystery that currently wrapped the castle had not helped that matter. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who were usually neutral parties in the not-so-cold war that was eternally being fought by Gryffindors and Slytherins alike were very obviously in the lions' corner this morning.

Harry took a fair bit of pride in the fact that, despite being outnumbered three to one, the green and silver-clad figures that dominated one-fourth of the stands were doing a remarkable job of having their voices heard.

Just then, Harry's eyes swept over the visitors' section and he tensed.

Hogwarts very often played host to guests for these sorts of matches. This morning, four figures, in particular, interested him greatly.

The first two were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The couple's eyes watched the entire Slytherin Quidditch team unwaveringly, though every few seconds, they flicked towards their own son.

Speaking of fathers in the crowd, Harry swiftly noticed that James Potter was among those gathered. Pettigrew was present as well, standing beside James. Both of them were looking directly at Harry, and he had no idea how to feel about that. Before looking away, he did notice that Peter offered him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and even James was smiling with what seemed to be pride.

What an odd thought that was. For the father who had abandoned him to be proud. Such a shame that by this point, Harry had all but given up on any potential for a relationship between the two of them which was anything more than cordial and friendly.

His attention was drawn back to Lee Jordan as he began to introduce the seven members of Gryffindor's house team. Harry's eyes were practically glued to Charlus as he hurtled out onto the pitch. As Harry noticed how his twin's always messy hair became even worse in the wind, he suddenly realized for the first time that his own hair fell out of its perfect state whilst in the air.

He supposed you couldn't have it all.

At long last, both teams had taken their place at centre field. As the captains shook hands, Bletchley looking like his hand was being crushed by the larger, more imposing form of sixth-year keeper Oliver Wood, Harry maintained hard eye contact with his brother. It had been Charlus who'd instigated the impromptu staring match. Before a winner could surface, the whistle blew. Despite both twins' concentration seemingly being fixated on the other, both of them reacted instantaneously to Hooch's whistle. In fact, they reacted at the exact same time, moving in perfect synchrony as they mounted their brooms and kicked off, hard.

That was where the mirror effect had ended, for Harry's broom took him much higher, much faster as the game began.

In the background, Jordan was commenting that Pucey had sped off and seized hold of the quaffle immediately. These were the types of advantages that the Slytherin's top of the line racing brooms would grant them. Harry, on the other hand, was distracted immediately. When he reached his desired altitude, his first impulse was to turn and seek out the golden snitch. Instead of seeing the snitch, the first thing he saw was an angry, red bludger hurtling straight towards his face.

With casual ease, Harry inverted in the air, allowing the ball to sail harmlessly through the space his head had occupied just seconds before. What did surprise him was that when he inverted back, the bludger had done a hard, one-hundred-eighty degree turn and was pelting back towards him once more. Annoyed, Harry dodged once more. Again, the bludger focused its attention back onto him.

A frown etched itself onto the young Slytherin's face. He would happily concede that he was not well-seasoned in Quidditch. Truly, he had an extremely limited amount of knowledge and experience at his disposal. Yet for all the hours he had spent practicing hard on the pitch with his teammates over the past two months, he didn't remember a single instance of anything like this taking place. When taking into account his exceptional memory recall, that meant one thing.

There hadn't been a single instance of this happening in the last two months.

If that wasn't enough, Harry could vividly remember a passage from _Quidditch Through the Ages_ which spoke explicitly about bludgers. They were created to generally target any player on the pitch. They were certainly not designed to focus on one player exclusively. There had been instances in the past where teams had either directly tampered with bludgers to do just that, or paid off the officials to do it for them. The outcome was always that the responsible party was punished with a shocking degree of severity.

Yet here was the bludger, flying back towards Harry. In an effort to shake it, he dove straight down. As he did, he could hear the bludger coming up behind him. Derrick realized that it was hot on his tail and intercepted it with a well-placed strike with his bat. As it turned out, both he and Bole seemed to be freed up. Harry could hear Derrick curse as the bludger made another move towards Harry.

"It's been cursed," Harry said as the beater intercepted it once more, sending it off course for a moment before it made another run.

"Yeah," Bole said as he took his turn to knock it away, "we've noticed. If you haven't picked up on it already, you're not the only unlucky bastard on the pitch." The large boy gestured to a spot on the other side of the pitch. Charlus was also dodging furiously as the bludger made to decapitate him. The twins were converging on it with matching looks of astonishment on their seemingly identical faces.

"Right," Derrick muttered, "So the beaters are gonna be useless this game. If the Terrors have half a brain between them, they'll try and protect their seeker. They'll still try and hit the bludgers at you, us and the chasers, but for the most part, they'll be focused on protecting their Potter. If we do the same, it'll just be up to you and him."

"We'll never win that way."

"What do you mean?"

"I won't outfly him that way. I hate to admit it, but he has more experience and at least as much raw talent as I do. My best chance is to use the broom and trickery. If you two are crowding me, I can't do either one of those."

"Potter, it'll fucking kill you."

Harry scoffed. "So little faith." They made to argue once more but before they could, Gryffindor called a timeout, which was rather ideal for Harry. Now, all he had to do was convince the beaters to let him be. It was dangerous for certain, but Harry was not losing to his twin. Especially not while riding a superior broom. He would never live it down.

"Somebody's tampered with the bludger," Bole told Bletchley immediately upon landing.

"Yeah, I can see that. Seeing as Gryffindor Potter has the same problem, I doubt much will come of us complaining about it."

"What's the score?" asked Derrick, having been so caught up in guarding Harry that he had been completely unable to keep track.

"We're up by forty," Bletchley answered. "Would be more, but we had a fumbled shot and Wood's been brilliant." Judging by the way Malfoy flushed, Harry knew exactly who had taken the aforementioned fumbled shot.

"Bletchley," Harry cut in sharply, "tell these two to bugger off of me for a bit."

The whole team looked startled. "Are you out of your mind?" Pucey asked, wide-eyed.

"It's a bludger. I'm on the fastest broom that money can buy and if you lot are to be believed, I'm pretty decent at this whole flying thing. I'll be fine."

"Potter, that's the single stupidest thing I've ever heard," Pucey argued back. "You might be able to outfly the thing for a bit, but you're human, it's not. Eventually, you'll make a mistake, and it won't. When that happens, you're fucked."

"I'll just get the snitch before that happens."

"Bletchley, you can't let him do this!"

"He can do it," Cassius said quietly. "I don't like it; not at all. I think it's a terrible idea, but he can probably do it."

Harry felt a great surge of gratitude for his friend. It took a lot of stones to go against the popular opinion in a group anything like the one they currently stood in. But Cassius had stood firm. He made it obvious that sending one of his good friends off to fly against a rogue bludger was something he didn't like, but he also expressed his seemingly sincere confidence in Harry.

Bletchley shrugged. "It might be a bad idea, but we can't use reserves in-game. Only if Potter were to have pulled it before the game started. And whatever happens, I am not losing to Gryffindor." He winced at how harsh that sounded. "No offence, Potter. It's just that as captain, my job is to win Quidditch matches." When Harry perked up, Bletchley froze him in place with a glare. "That also doesn't mean I want to see my teammate get splattered. Be careful, Potter. stop you."

Harry nodded solemnly. He understood the risks just fine.

When they took to the air once more, it was apparent that Charlus had suggested the same thing that Harry himself had. Both the Weasleys and the Slytherin beaters hung in the air, not entirely sure of what to do. In the end, they decided to focus on being opportunists.

As Harry and Charlus dodged, weaved and corkscrewed to avoid the rogue bludgers, they all waited. Any time one of the seekers dodged a bludger that had enough momentum to allow it to travel well past them, one of the beaters would fly towards it. If the opposing chasers were close enough, they would hit the bludger towards them. If they were not particularly close, however, it would redirect itself before reaching them. On these occasions, whichever beater reached the bludger first, (almost always the Slytherins due to the drastic advantage of their brooms) they would hit it back towards the opposing seeker.

As for Harry and Charlus, the two of them had their focuses divided.

For Charlus, it was divided evenly across two streams of thought. The first one was not getting murdered by the vindictive bludger that seemed to be out for blood. The second was to frantically look around for any glint of gold.

His brother was a bit more complex, as the majority of his mind was dominated by several thoughts. The first, similarly to his brother, was staying alive. The second was to catch the snitch. The third was trying to come up with creative ways in which he could work the unique circumstances to his advantage.

Experimentally, Harry shot towards Charlus, startling his twin. At the last second, he pulled up, leading the bludger on a collision course for Charlus's face. His brother was more gifted than Malfoy though. With a tremendous, last-second evasion, Charlus let the bludgers both miss him, collide with one another, and spiral off course for about three seconds before pelting back towards their designated targets.

Before dodging once more, Charlus shot a particularly nasty glare towards Harry, who smirked back vindictively. He couldn't outfly Charlus. That sheer brilliant move to evade two bludgers simultaneously had proven that to him. But he could certainly out-think him. He wasn't deluded enough to think that if he began to weaponize his bludger against Charlus that his twin would not respond. He was, however, confident that if both boys started doing that, Harry would have a significant enough tactical advantage that he would be able to triumph.

Harry promptly dove towards Charlus, ready to instigate the most dangerous game of tag the crowd had ever seen. A part of him, the logical, cunning part, he suspected, was loudly screaming that this was a terrible idea. Indeed, he suspected many would call it a Gryffindor-esque strategy. But those people were narrow-minded. Those people forgot that there was more to being a Slytherin than cunning. Slytherin was also the house of the ambitious. Harry had no higher ambition in life, at the moment, than proving to the world he was greater than his twin. Proving to the world that James, Dumbledore and the rest of them had hatched their bets on the wrong brother.

That ambition gave Harry the courage to put his plan into motion.

As soon as he did so, the game descended into pure and utter chaos.

Charlus and Harry took turns having goes at one another. In turn, the bludgers were diverted onto the opposing seeker through last-second bails and quick, sharp turns. This entire time, Harry realized that if this kept up, he would never be catching the snitch in time. As he barrel-rolled to avoid both his brother and the bludger before turning in mid-air to shoot towards Charlus like a javelin, an idea formed in his mind.

The idea had actually been spurred on a moment earlier when he had contrasted Gryffindor and Slytherin in his mind. The Gryffindor beaters were likely impulsive, to an extent. Not just because they were Gryffindors, Harry wasn't that narrow-minded. But he knew a bit of them. If their brother Ronald was anything to go off of, and taking some of their hasty pranks into account, Harry thought it was a safe bet to assume that the pair of them were react first individuals.

That could be taken advantage of.

As Charlus chased him towards the stands, Harry signaled to his beaters. It was actually a signal the chasers usually gave to him, but he hoped they got the idea. Chasers, if struggling to contain the opposing line, would signal their seeker to run interference. Harry gestured for the beaters to do this, but he gestured towards the twins, not towards the chasers. His beaters looked perplexed for a moment, but after the signal Harry had given him during tryouts had worked so well, Bole was the first to react. Before the twins knew what was happening, they and the Slytherin beaters were also engaged in a rather deadly game of tag. They were shooting towards each other like overgrown bullets, leaving their attention successfully diverted from the battling seekers.

This was the good thing.

The bad thing was that Harry and Charlus, whilst being tailed by the rogue bludgers, were streaking straight towards the packed bleachers.

Harry swerved hard, taking them on a slightly different course. This new course was far less dangerous for those in the bleachers. Unfortunately, it was far more dangerous for Harry and Charlus. This new path only presented the two seekers with one viable option.

That was to fly under the bleachers. That, or fly straight into a stadium wall.

Channeling whatever inner Gryffindor Harry may have possessed as part of his Potter lineage, he went for it, flying straight under the bleachers. Charlus cursed and followed. For the third or fourth time in the last six or so months, Harry had his perception changed on what the most dangerous thing he'd ever done in his life was.

Flying under bleachers, weaving tightly in and out of columns that he could barely see coming while avoiding the rogue bludger hot on his tail certainly took the cake. The worse part was, in spite of the advantage his superior broom granted him, Charlus was gaining. There were no straightaways here. In this tight, windy course, Harry was outmatched. He may have been the best pure flyer in Slytherin House, but he still could not yet compare to his brother's rare ability.

Harry swerved harshly to the left, dodging not one, but two pillars. The bludger tailing him slammed into the second one, ricocheting towards Charlus and granting Harry a few more seconds. That was thankfully all he needed to find an opening and fly back out onto the pitch, streaking towards the still battling beaters at top speed. Charlus emerged too. The ball chasing Harry had punched a hole through the infrastructure for Charlus to fly through. Thankfully, the stadium and stands were held together by not only matter, but magic.

Due to his point of exit, Charlus was hot on Harry's tail as they flew towards the beaters. As he flew, Harry saw it. A speck of gold not far from the beaters. But he had to keep Charlus from seeing it. He had to distract him.

Luckily, Charlus was by now more pissed off with Harry than he was desperate to catch the snitch. His complete and undivided attention was fixated upon his brother, who, seconds before he had reached him, tore through the battling beaters, bludger hot on his tail. Charlus pulled up at the last second, raising his altitude by inches to miss the bludger, which had been hit back towards him by Fred Weasley.

Just as he did, searing pain flared in his shoulder. When he'd been forced to adjust his trajectory, he had indeed avoided being hit by the bludger. Less ideally, he had put himself in prime position to be struck by the beater's bat, just as Fred followed through with it after making contact with the bludger. Fred hadn't looked to see if Charlus was coming. He'd just seen the bludger and swung.

The pain in Charlus's shoulder was blinding, disorienting, even. White spots danced in front of his eyes and his vision swam.

Seemingly to make things even worse, his suffering was not yet over.

The rogue bludger, which had failed to hit him all game, slammed forcefully into his right arm, sending him toppling off of his broom. And to add insult to injury, the last thing Charlus Potter saw before unconsciousness took its hold on him was his brother, grinning ear to ear as he held up his arm, still flying as not to get struck by the bludger.

There was an unmistakable glint of gold in his fist.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**First and foremost, thank you all for 1000 reviews! That is absolutely mind-blowing!**

**A quick note on Ron. He is acting like an absolute prat. There is a lot more going on with him than you think. This is not the typical Ron bashing trope it currently looks like. And no, he does not have the diary, before anybody assumes.**

**In other news this story was blatantly plagiarized without my permission and copied-pasted onto another site. I have been in contact with the site in question, and within the next 48-72 hours, the story will be taken down and the user's account will be permanently banned.**

**For future reference, nobody has my permission to re-post this story anywhere. Nor will anybody ever have my permission to do so. The only possible exception would be for a translation. Even then, I would at least expect you to show the moral decency and common courtesy of messaging me first. **

**The excuse of it being fanfiction does not stand. JKR makes no claim to fanfictions, as she has said publicly on many occasions. I make no claim to the original series, but this is my intellectual property, especially when said culprit hasn't even properly cited the original source. I will move against anybody who re-posts this story, just as any author should if their work has been plagiarized. **

**Be a decent human being folks — it's not that hard.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 10th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**A massive shoutout to Wakefan from my Discord server for the title suggestion for this chapter. An additional thank you is extended to all Discord members who voted on the various proposed titles for this chapter, as well as my lovely Discord Editors who assisted me with this chapter:**

**Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	36. SS Ch 18: Warnings and Wake-Up Calls

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 18: Warnings and Wake-Up Calls**

* * *

_**November 7, 1992**_

_**The Quidditch Pitch**_

_**10:08 AM**_

The moments following the conclusion of the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match were dominated by frantic chaos on all sides. Thankfully, the limp form of Charlus Potter hadn't been allowed to hit the ground. Before that could happen, his body had been caught by his teammates, Fred and George Weasley. Their reaction to his fall had actually been rather impressive. Harry thought that if nothing else, though the two of them might not get the shine of actually winning the match, they would likely be heroes within their own house for their spectacular catch of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Speaking of Charlus, Harry had to admit he was quite thankful his brother had not splattered against the pitch far below. They had their differences, now more than ever, but as much as Charlus annoyed Harry and the latter would not mind cursing the former quite severely at the moment, he didn't want him dead, by any means.

Of course, all these thoughts came much later.

The actual thoughts running through Harry's mind after his first-ever Quidditch victory were not nearly as organized as his later reflection. They were a cluster of chaos, confusion and euphoria. He didn't allow himself a rest until the rogue bludger, which had not ceased its rabid pursuit of him when the match had ended, had been wrestled to the ground by Bole and stuffed forcefully back into the crate of balls, still resting open at centre field. Even in the restraints, both bludgers fought wildly to break free, but neither of them achieved that rather destructive desire.

Harry was free to bask in his victory with the rest of his team and house. As he was lifted victoriously onto the shoulders of Slytherins, young and old, he could not help but reflect that this was perhaps the first time in his life he had no objections to being touched, even if the clustered crowd wasn't exactly to his tastes.

It was a wonder what euphoria could do for the human soul.

* * *

_**Later that night, in the Slytherin dorms…**_

The rest of that day had passed in a blur. It seemed as if the entire school had universally agreed to forget about the debacle that had taken place one week earlier. Of course, Harry wasn't naive enough to not realize the scorn of the school would be fixed fast upon him once more that very next morning. Perhaps now, more than ever, as their envy would now be levelled at him on top of their unfounded suspicion. Harry honestly no longer cared.

He'd spent ten years of his life being hated every moment of his existence. If the school thought they could break him with words and glares, they were sorely mistaken. Mind you, he certainly wouldn't be opposed to the students ceasing their efforts to hit him in the back with stinging jinxes and other minor impediments. Though that could have had as much to do with the upcoming Quidditch match as it did the Heir of Slytherin implications. It was frankly hard to tell which one of those two things the school would prioritize.

Knowing the logic, or lack thereof, commonly employed by most of the wizarding population, Harry thought that prioritizing a Quidditch rivalry over a suspected criminal was a distinct possibility.

The party had stretched on for the entirety of the day in the Slytherin common room. Harry was, as Calypso and Cassius had predicted, the centre of attention. On the exterior, he smiled casually and easily fed into everything being thrown at him. On the interior, he was a little bit more than uncomfortable, but he didn't show it. He had years of practice at not showing how he truly felt about situations he would rather not be in.

After a time, he'd needed a break from all of it. He'd gone to practice spell casting. Paranoid as he was, he hadn't used the dungeon classroom that he and Grace often practiced in. That was still a meeting he wasn't entirely sure how to approach. Instead, he had simply selected one at random and frequented it for much of the day. Cassius and Calypso, when talking to them later, seemed satisfied with the amount of time he had spent amongst his peers, so all was well in the end.

The only down part to the day, really, was when Daphne and Blaise informed him in hushed voices that they had spotted Grace looming close to the hidden entrance of the Speaker's Den. They assumed she knew he was gone somewhere and was waiting for him. Harry thought the odds of Grace guessing the password were slim to none, but he thought reimplementing a Parseltongue password on the Speaker's Den was something he needed to do at the first available opportunity.

He had nothing against Grace, but Harry didn't want anybody finding that room. It was, even if all else failed, the one place he could always rely on for solitude and safety.

He had also met his father earlier in the day. It was something he'd firmly expected to be an uncomfortable affair, but the meeting was surprisingly pleasant. James applauded Harry on an extremely well-played game of Quidditch and told him, seemingly sincerely, that he was proud. Oddly, Harry felt no flutter in his stomach the way he had on those odd occasions when others had expressed pride in him. That was as good an indicator as any as to exactly how he felt about his father. It wasn't even that Harry necessarily disliked James. He would just never be able to trust him again.

Peter had been there too, a man whom Harry trusted even less. The sixth sense within him which screamed whenever someone lied was constantly screeching every time Harry was in range of Peter Pettigrew. Everything about the man screamed of deceptions.

He even looked like a rat.

That somewhat awkward meeting hadn't lasted long. James had needed to go check on Charlus one final time before he left the property. It seemed that Harry's twin hadn't suffered any serious injuries which would affect him long term, but apparently, it was going to be a long day for Charlus.

After all of that had concluded, Harry was able to just lay back and doze off. It was the fastest he had fallen asleep in some time. Nothing that day had been nearly as jarring as Samhain, nor his last Occlumency lesson with Grace, but the fatigue had slowly accumulated and evidently, it had taken its toll on Harry.

Unfortunately, his sleep wasn't overly restful, nor was it undisturbed. He was actually quite perplexed when he was woken some time in the middle of the night. This happened quite frequently, but it was normally in response to a nightmare. Harry didn't remember any nightmares at all.

He felt something brush against his leg and all at once, all wariness was quickly wiped away by adrenaline as he sat bolt upright, swiftly snatching his wand from under his pillow.

What he saw at the foot of his bed was the last thing he had ever expected.

"Dobby?" he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the elf in question as he quickly cast the Muffliato charm on his hangings. As of yet, he hadn't figured out how to tie that charm into his ward scheme. The problem was that the spell wasn't exactly one which could be researched in a book for information. There were silencing charms layered in, but he trusted the traditional privacy spell far less than the one he had frequently used for the past fourteen months.

Dobby looked rather downtrodden. His ears seemed to have a natural sort of droop to them and he looked as if the events of the past day had taken every bit as much a toll on him as they had the youth who sat in front of him.

Despite all of that, his ears seemed to perk up when Harry mentioned his name. "Harry Potter remembers Dobby's name?"

Harry had to resist the urge to frown. "Our last meeting wasn't exactly easy to forget, Dobby. And between the two of us, I don't forget much." Dobby very clearly took that to mean he had made an impact on Harry, for the little creature's eyes quickly started to well up with tears of joy. Before he could start grovelling, Harry resumed speaking. "Last time you showed up, you almost got me killed by my uncle. So I'm curious, Dobby, what are you going to do this time?"

The elf looked taken aback. Whether it was at Harry's swift reasoning or the fact that he no longer seemed drowsy at all, Harry wasn't sure. "Dobby would never want to hurt Harry Potter, sir!"

"What about your masters?"

Dobby frowned. It seemed to Harry as if he was putting real thought into that question. "Dobby doesn't think my masters be wanting to hurt you, Harry Potter."

This actually surprised Harry quite a bit. He had suspected that some rich, snobbish Slytherin had sicked the elf on him during the summer in order to get him in trouble, or worse. Assuming Dobby wasn't lying, and Harry was pretty sure he wasn't, this changed things rather drastically.

There was a thought floating around at the back of his mind, too. One that seemed far too convenient to ignore.

"Last time you showed up, you told me that there was a plot this year. A plot to make 'terrible things happen at Hogwarts.' I'm assuming those terrible things started on Samhain when Filch's cat turned up petrified?"

Once more, Dobby looked taken aback. It seemed as if much like in the summer, he was caught off guard by the cold logic that Harry employed against him. "Dobby tried to warn you, sir," the elf moaned. "Dobby tried to stop you from coming to Hogwarts, but Harry Potter didn't listen."

"Well, I wasn't going to let you get me expelled for that rubbish over the summer if I could avoid it. By the way, whoever your masters are, give them a smack from me for that, will you?"

"My masters never told Dobby to stop the Potter twins from coming to Hogwarts."

Again, this surprised Harry. According to Dobby during the summer, the elf had gone out of his way to stop Harry, and presumably Charlus from attending Hogwarts because they had "roles to play", whatever that meant. Perhaps the elf's masters actually had nothing to do with this. Perhaps he was just that dedicated. That persistent…

"Wait a minute," Harry said as his eyes narrowed dangerously. "If your masters didn't tell you to do all of this, I'm guessing you'd still rather Charlus and I weren't at Hogwarts?" Dobby nodded. "You didn't happen to petrify Mrs. Norris, did you Dobby?"

The elf looked incredulous. "Of course not, sir! Dobby would never do anything like that. Dobby is not even capable of such magic, sir."

Whether that last part was true or not, Harry had no idea. For now, he decided to take the elf at his word. "Alright then, let's take a different approach. Did you have anything to do with the bludgers?"

Dobby immediately looked nervous. "You mustn't be angry, sir. Charlus Potter was furious with Dobby. He couldn't believe Dobby did such a thing."

"My brother does a lot of stupid things," Harry understated. "Seeing as he's currently regrowing his bones, I actually think he has a very valid point this time." He fixed Dobby with a meaningful stare. "But don't worry, Dobby. Unlike Charlus, I'm not surprised. Your stunt in the summer might have got me killed if not for my friend and her family. I already knew that you sometimes forget to think before you act."

It was a rather blatant ploy on Harry's part. Hopefully, he could guilt the elf into spilling something. He had no desire to get involved in this year's mystery, but if he could find out some way to prove he wasn't at the heart of it that was of little risk to him, all the better. And even if he couldn't, information was hardly a bad thing. If anything, it might help him to not become the next Mrs. Norris.

Harry had no doubts that these "terrible things at Hogwarts" were in reference to whatever had happened on Samhain. If that was indeed the case, it was only logical that the specific event in question had only been the beginning. A warning shot, perhaps. He very much doubted this supposed "Heir of Slytherin" would be sticking to creatures for long. Students might well be next, and any information that could help him and his friends to avoid that fate would be more than welcome.

Dobby's ears drooped once more. "Dobby thought that his bludger would make Harry Potter go home."

"Dobby, I'm going to say this very clearly and I want you to listen very closely, okay?" The elf nodded. "No matter what you do, I am not leaving Hogwarts. You're wasting your time setting up these schemes because none of them will work. The best way you can keep Charlus and I safe is by telling me what's going on and who's behind it."

"Dobby can only be telling Harry Potter what he knows already, sir. The Chamber of Secrets is open again. Hogwarts isn't safe for students anymore."

"Again?" Harry asked sharply. "Are you telling me that this isn't the first time the Chamber of Secrets has been opened? And that whoever opened it isn't bluffing? It really has been opened, then?"

The elf's ears drooped. "Dobby has said too much, sir," the elf said, downtrodden. Then, before Harry could react, Dobby vanished with a loud CRACK, leaving Harry to mull over all of that information in the confines of his bed.

Sighing, he quietly slid open his curtains to pour himself a glass of water from his bedside table. To his surprise, there was something else resting on the surface.

A piece of parchment with elegant, unfamiliar writing written across it sat there, seemingly innocuous. Carefully, Harry levitated it behind his hangings and therefore into the range of the Muffliato spell. He quickly cast the limited amount of detection charms he knew, but when none of them came up with anything, he frowned. Eventually, he decided that if somebody wanted to harm him, they probably wouldn't have done it in the middle of his dorm room, so he finally picked up the parchment and began to read it.

_Harry,_

_I know that our last meeting didn't end as well as either of us would have liked, but I think we need to talk. _

_I would really appreciate if you would meet me at the normal time and place tomorrow evening, but understand if you won't._

_Just give it some thought. _

_Grace_

* * *

_**November 8, 1992**_

_**The Library**_

_**10:23 AM**_

That next morning, Harry and his friends found themselves diligently working away in the Library. Harry himself wasn't behind on any classwork, but he had taken out a basic book on Arithmancy. It appeared as if most of their first year learning Arithmancy would be taken up by ensuring that the class had a strong foundation of mathematical knowledge. At least, that would be the first half of the year. Harry had always done well in maths during muggle school, so he was actually rather far ahead already. Some of the algebra was new to him, but not much of it. That's what he was polishing up on now. Once he finished, he might actually be able to start learning the actual applications of Arithmancy, as well as his other classes, in which he was steadily pulling further and further ahead in by the day.

Harry, Blaise, Daphne and Tracey had chosen the most secluded corner of the library they could find. Now that the post-match chaos had subsided, Harry once more found himself at the centre of the whole "Heir of Slytherin" conspiracy, and he could barely walk down a hallway without getting glared and hissed at by passers-by.

Considering this fact, the four of them were actually somewhat surprised when Pansy found them and plopped her things down beside Harry. Pansy was not at all a morning person, and she had clearly overslept this morning. Despite that, her countenance spoke of significance. It was in equal parts worried and gleeful, an odd combination to be sure.

"What's happened?" Harry asked her in a low voice, subtly withdrawing his wand and preparing to cast his typical privacy measures. When Pansy subtly nodded to indicate doing so was probably a good idea, he did, and only then did she look at each of them in turn before coming out with it.

"A student's gone missing."

The air at the table was suddenly filled with tension. "Petrified?" Blaise asked.

"No, missing. He's completely vanished. No writing on the wall, no hints, no nothing. He's just… gone."

"Another attack," Daphne mused.

Pansy looked pensive. "Maybe, it's hard to tell, really. I mean, I don't think many people liked him, so it could've been anything. But it makes sense that it was an attack. He's a muggleborn and it doesn't look like he went willingly."

"So there are some hints, then?" Harry asked curiously.

"Just one, and it's not really a hint. The one who was petrified, it's that muggleborn from Gryffindor. The annoying firstie with the camera."

"Creevey," Harry supplied, remembering his name from the sorting, "Colin Creevey."

"Yes, him. When they went looking for him this morning, they didn't find anything. Apparently, he was last seen in the Gryffindor common room last night after dinner. What they did find was his camera. It was laying on the floor near the Hospital Wing, and apparently there was damage done to it."

"What kind of damage, exactly?" Blaise asked.

"I have no idea!" Pansy sounded genuinely annoyed by the fact. "That's the other thing I've been trying to figure out, but nobody seems to know. I'm sure the higher-up professors do, but they're obviously not telling."

"Better question," Tracey asked with amazement, "How do you even know all of this?"

Pansy had actually kept her word since joining their group more than a month ago now. It had seemed to have taken about a week for the habit to be broken, but after that, she had addressed Tracey perfectly in line with how she would address any prestigious, pureblood heiress. "I have my ways," she answered elusively. Tracey rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, obviously realizing she wasn't going to get anything else done.

"Harry," she asked, "Do you mind helping me with the Transfiguration homework? I'm a bit lost." Tracey was quite good at both Potions and Charms, but Transfiguration had never been her best subject.

"Me too, while you're at it?" Pansy seconded, turning puppy dog eyes on Harry. In return, Harry just rolled his own eyes, but he did end up helping the two of them finish their homework — an essay he had finished on Friday evening.

* * *

_**Later that night, in a room in the dungeons...**_

Harry was more than a little bit anxious for the second consecutive occasion on which he was nearing the room in the dungeons which he frequented with Grace. This time, the reasoning behind it was quite different.

Last Sunday, he'd been expecting a rather dramatic dressing down for the incident pertaining to Malfoy in the common room. The same incident which Grace was accidentally (sort of) dragged into. Tonight, Harry was not so much nervous as to what might happen to him. He was nervous because he was worried a topic of conversation might come up that he had been trying quite hard to bury.

The only person whom Harry had truly talked about the Dursleys and his home life with had been Daphne. Tracey suspected more than she knew, and the two of them had shared an emotional heart to heart in July, but he hadn't opened up to Tracey yet in the same way he had done to Daphne.

Harry had a decent amount of trust for Grace. Or at least he had before last Sunday's incident. He had never trusted her unconditionally, but she was certainly one of the few people alive whom he trusted at all. Now, he wasn't entirely sure where they stood. He would need to hear her side of things, and it was a side he frankly didn't want to hear. Because he knew once it was brought up, deep, uncomfortable conversations about the nightmares of his past were sure to follow.

And to think, he had been having such an easy, normal year until the night of Samhain.

Then again, he had been having such an easy, normal life until the night of Samhain eleven years ago. The troll had also put in a rather impressive attempt at killing him that very same night a little over a year ago. The conclusion that Harry was slowly drawing from all of this was that Samhain was just not his night. Maybe next year, he would be better off locked away in a bunker on the night of October thirty-first.

Refocusing, Harry noticed that he was once more standing right in front of the door. His ring told him nothing, which was quite impressive. Even when Malfoy's older friends had set up wards last year, his ring had alerted him to their presence. Standing directly in front of the door that led into the classroom, nothing was being broadcast to him at all. He was pretty sure Grace was likely inside, but his ring was none the wiser. Clearly, the wards were well-designed. Taking into account whom Harry knew had cast them, that fact wasn't exactly surprising.

With a sigh, he reached out and took the doorknob, slowly and deliberately pushing the door open as he blanked his face and tried hard to clamp down on his emotions. Lately, he'd been working diligently to learn to control and suppress them. It was a skill he had nowhere near mastered as of yet, but Emily had assured him it wouldn't take long. Apparently, he would have it down by late February or early March, according to her. Possibly earlier, but she hadn't wanted to get his hopes up too high.

Harry really wished it was a skill he had already mastered, for just seeing this room once more caused his anxiety to rise. Grace was already present and waiting for him. She was sitting at one of the desks in one of the number of comfortable armchairs. In spite of that, she wasn't lounging. Quite the opposite, in fact. She looked entirely alert, her eyes were sharp and focused and she was leaning forward, her foot impatiently tapping against the ground as she waited. As soon as Harry entered the room, her bluish-silver eyes found him at once and Harry felt frozen in place by her stare. For an irrational moment, he thought she might try to legilimize him.

She didn't. She simply gestured for him to take a seat across from her and very hesitantly, he obliged her silent request. There was a long, awkward moment of silence between the two of them before finally, Grace sighed. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

Harry didn't answer, primarily because he had no idea how to.

"I didn't really expect you to," she admitted. "I'm assuming you'd rather avoid the topic altogether, but it sort of has to be brought up." Harry tensed, but he did his best to keep his face impassive as not to give anything of significance away.

"Well, let's start with the basics that I'm assuming probably don't mean a whole lot to you but that I feel obligated to say anyway. I'm sorry, Harry. That was an awful mistake on my part. I thought I had an idea of what was going on in your home life after this summer. Mother… told both myself and Charlotte what she knew, which was everything that Celia had told her. I was wrong. I… didn't expect to see any of that. I was curious to see what your thoughts were about Samhain. Specifically, about the Malfoy incident. I didn't expect it to spiral like that, and I certainly didn't expect to see what I did.

"When I felt your emotions, I froze and started operating off of instinct. That's when the memories from your childhood came up. Breaking a connection you form with Legilimency isn't difficult, but it does have to be done consciously unless the defending Occlumens breaks it on their own. I was too taken aback, too surprised. The thought never even crossed my mind, which in hindsight, is rather horrible. I didn't realize how terrible that probably was for you until I tuned back in and felt the emotions it was triggering. It was… not my proudest moment.

"I have a habit of looking at everything clinically. Situations, problems, people. I look at everything from my perspective and the perspective of what needs to be done to get us to the ideal situation. I… don't think of other people's emotions sometimes. I'm not using that as an excuse. That was borderline sociopathic of me, and it was disgusting. I'm just telling you why breaking the link never even came to my mind. If I would have tuned into your emotional reaction sooner, it would have jogged me. But I didn't.

"I'm sorry for that, Harry. I completely understand if you don't trust me in your mind right now. We don't have to work on Occlumency tonight if you would rather not. I just hope that I'll be able to earn back your trust at some point in the not-so-distant future."

Again, heavy silence permeated the room. All in all, Harry was actually rather happy with that response. He had feared more than anything that Grace would press him about the Dursleys.

But she hadn't.

She hadn't even mentioned them except in passing. Beyond all else, there was no pity in her words. That was another thing he had dreaded, but it didn't seem to be there. She had been clinical, just as she'd described herself as. Harry was also quite the clinical person. He could understand the approach, and her explanation actually made sense to him.

It was probably the same thing he would have done if the roles were reversed, and he sensed no malicious intent. That was not to say he was in the mood to have her go anywhere near his mind at the moment. That was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but he wouldn't hold the incident against her. It would be noted and remembered, but not weighed with any degree of importance, at least not right now.

"If it's all the same to you, I would rather not work on Occlumency right now. It's… not even that I don't trust you, necessarily. I just… have a hard time with the idea of anybody in my mind right now. Especially because those thoughts and memories will probably keep hovering around the surface for a while."

Grace nodded. "I completely understand that." She paused. "I'm not going to talk to you about them," she prefaced. "I know you wouldn't be interested in having that conversation at all, least of all with me. I'm not even going to ask you what you want to do about them, even though I personally think they can burn and rot. I'm just going to say one thing about all of this and then move on."

Tentatively, Harry nodded, prompting her to go on, though he had become rather tense once again.

"If you ever need to talk about it, let me know. I'm not going to pretend I can understand the situation at all, because I can't. You would probably tell me that I had life extremely easy next to you, and you would be completely right. But I am fairly good at reading people and situations and between the two of us, I rather like you. My sister does especially, as does Mother and Father. If you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Harry was quite sure it was a lifeline he wouldn't be using, but he nodded appreciatively nonetheless, and the gesture was more than sincere. It left an odd, heavy lump in his throat to think that people like Grace were actually willing to hear the problems of a random boy which had no impact on them. There was always the chance that he was being manipulated, but he personally didn't think that to be likely.

"Right, well, I thought we might try something different tonight. Something less stressful for you, but something that I have a feeling you're going to be very interested in." Harry raised an eyebrow in question, showing his intrigue. "Technically, common practice is to not teach Legilimency until the student has progressed to level three or higher in Occlumency. I'm not going to make a habit out of teaching it to you, but I don't think one lesson will hurt, if you're willing."

Harry had to suppress the widening of his eyes. He wasn't sure if this was Grace trying to get his trust back or not, but it was certainly interesting. And it was certainly a bold move on her part. Harry had no doubt that he would never be breaching her "shields" unless she wanted him to. Still, the thought of letting anyone voluntarily into your mind when the option to not was available was baffling to Harry.

"You're… sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright then, where do we start?"

* * *

_**November 9, 1992**_

_**The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom**_

_**11:58 AM**_

After a long, theory-based lesson, Gilderoy Lockhart had finally told the Slytherin second years that it was time to pack up their things and prepare for lunch. Much of the class found themselves quite relieved to hear that proclamation. Lockhart was a surprisingly difficult professor. Hurst had been more so, but Lockhart still expected a lot of his students.

Speaking of his students, one such raven-haired boy was about halfway through packing his things when he heard the professor call his name. "Mister Potter, stay behind please. I'd like a word with you, if you'd be so kind."

Daphne's head snapped around at once. Her look towards Harry was inquisitive, but he merely shrugged. He had no more idea what this might be about than she did. Seeing as he also had no inkling as to how long or short this "word" might be, he told his friends to go on ahead and wait for him in the Great Hall. When all had cleared the room, Harry walked towards the teacher's desk. Lockhart was looking directly at him, and Harry had the impression the man had been doing just that the entire time he had been speaking with Daphne, Blaise and Tracey.

"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?"

Lockhart nodded, piercing Harry with a deep, blue-eyed stare. "Warn you would be more accurate, but yes, that was the general idea." Harry could not help but feel the shift in mood and subconsciously, his hand drifted minutely towards his wand. Not that he would have had any hope of outduelling the honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, but that was another matter altogether.

"Warn me, Professor?"

Lockhart's eyes narrowed. "We both know what I'm talking about, Potter. Do the both of us a favour and stop playing ignorant, will you? It would be the most polite course of action in your current predicament."

Now, it was Harry who narrowed his eyes as he tried to piece together exactly what this could have been about. He'd answered several questions correctly in class and had actually earned Slytherin House a handful of points. He was fairly certain he was the top-scoring student in his year within Lockhart's subject, so he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his academic standing. Then, his mind rested on the reason why everybody seemed to be out for his head at the moment, and he suddenly remembered exactly how insistent Lockhart had been in maintaining his stance against Harry on the night of Samhain.

Harry couldn't help it. He actually sighed and very nearly rolled his eyes; it was a near miss. "You actually think I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"

Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say.

Lockhart's face scrunched up as he leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk in front of him as he made hard eye contact with Harry. With a jolt, Harry wondered if Lockhart was a Legilimens. According to his reading, the number of people who chose to learn Legilimency was typically far fewer than those who learned Occlumency, and even that was a fairly small number. But with all of the man's accolades, Harry decided it was a good idea not to make eye contact, just in case. Lockhart seemed to take this as a sign of weakness, which Harry had expected. Better he suspect him guilty than forcefully enter his mind.

"I'm going to give you one warning, Potter. You are my top suspect. You're the only one who makes sense right now and you were caught dead in that corridor. I don't believe in coincidences like that. From my experiences, where there's smoke, there is usually fire. I can't prove you did it. Hell, I might be wrong; it wouldn't be the first time. But just watch yourself if it is you. I'm watching you and if you're the one petrifying students, you haven't a chance. I'll catch you before long."

If nothing else, Harry could respect the bluntness and honesty.

"Dismissed."

He didn't need to be told twice. He left the room at a brisk pace, wearing a blank expression. It was lucky for him that he had no plans of getting involved with any of this. Still, it might not be a bad idea to look into Gilderoy Lockhart. And he knew of at least one person who at least knew something about the man that he did not.

* * *

"What did Lockhart want?" Daphne asked him several minutes later, practically as soon as he had sat down in the Great Hall.

Right then, Harry was experiencing a fair amount of indecision. Should he tell his friends that Lockhart thought him the Heir of Slytherin? He saw no reason to trouble them with it, at least not yet. It didn't seem as if it was going to be important.

Hopefully, Lockhart, or Dumbledore, or any other member of the staff would catch the actual perpetrator and this whole fiasco would be over. Barring that, Harry's plans were to stay clear of the whole thing, so Lockhart being watchful of him really shouldn't be too much of an issue. At worst, he would be caught out after curfew. It might look bad at the time, but it was hardly a damning offence that could implicate him to anything.

"He asked me about Samhain," Harry responded, deciding to tell a half-truth. "He was curious as to whether or not I saw anything in that corridor before my brother and his sidekicks showed up and tried to play hero."

There was a long pause at the table before Pansy asked the question that was obviously on the tip of everybody's tongue, the question which the group at large had blatantly ignored for the past nine days. "Did you see anything?"

"Nope," Harry answered, completely honest this time. "Just the cat hanging from the torch and the writing on the wall; same as everyone else. I didn't exactly have much time. I only beat my brother there by about a minute, and then I sort of got jumped, so…"

"Twat," Blaise muttered. "He's even glaring at you now."

"Let him, I hardly care." He glanced around the table. "Where are the firsties?" It was a fair question. Charlotte, Ginny and Laine all appeared to be absent.

"They took some sandwiches to the library, I think," Tracey answered. "Doing an essay for Snape."

That made sense. Harry and his year-mates had always had Potions on Monday mornings last year. It would make logical sense that Charlotte and her friends, being the new crop of first years, would share the same schedule as Harry had the year previous. Why make a new schedule every year if you could recycle as much of the old one as possible? It probably couldn't be done after third year due to the additional classes, but everyone took the same courses up until at least third year.

"I'm going to join them," he decided, taking a few sandwiches of his own before getting to his feet. "I want to take out some books on Arithmancy." That part was actually true, and he did plan on doing that, but it wasn't the real reason he was leaving. By now, his friends were used to him disappearing. They had History after lunch anyway. It wasn't as if Harry was actually going to attend that class.

Minutes later, he found himself up in the library and after a brief scan of the room, he found who he was looking for.

He briefly debated just walking up to Charlotte and asking for a word. He very much doubted that either Laine or Ginny would spread it around. The latter was more of an unknown to him, but she seemed the quiet type who seemed to pretty much follow the other two.

Deciding against that course of action, Harry took refuge behind a bookshelf which rendered him basically invisible from the girl's vantage point. From there, he began to project the mental equivalent of begging for attention, hoping that Charlotte would notice. He was probably royally botching the message, but he thought it possible she would pick up on it.

He was rather surprised when he felt… something. It was as if somebody had just dropped something into his mind. It was vague, not remotely specific, but he understood the general meaning. It was more of an impression than a thought, really, but he knew that Charlotte would find him in a few minutes.

He remembered, back in the summer, when Charlotte had explained her ability to hear the thoughts of others. Harry had thought even then that it was vaguely similar to an ability of his own. Granted, he'd mostly needed eye contact in the past, but he had always been able to sense general emotions, moods and lies. He had wondered whether or not that was some sort of Natural Legilimency of his own. Now more than ever, he found himself curious. Something to ask Emily, perhaps.

As he waited, he caught a brief snippet of an argument over what appeared to be higher-level Arithmancy. Two upper-year Ravenclaws, he suspected. Nobody else would argue that passionately over such a mundane topic.

"I'm telling you, the answer has to have three sig figs!"

"Are you kidding? It has to have four. Look, the number with the lowest number of significant figures is 3.460. That's four sig figs right there."

Harry watched in amusement as the other boy argued back. They were both eventually kicked out of the library by Madam Pince, who had been giving them her death glare for quite some time now, and Harry could suddenly feel a presence moving closer to him via his ring.

When Charlotte drew near, he smoothly stepped around the corner. "Clever," she said quietly, offering him a small smile.

"I have my moments," he said in return. "How long did you tell your friends you'd be gone for?"

Charlotte quirked a brow. "You weren't using an eavesdropping spell? I'm surprised."

"I don't know any to use."

She blinked. "Really?"

"Why the tone of surprise? Do you have any recommendations?"

"No, I don't know any of them either, though I wouldn't mind learning a few. I never really had need for them. It just seemed like something you would know."

"It isn't, but thanks for the idea." Charlotte's lips twitched. "Back to my original question though."

She shrugged. "I didn't really give them a timeline, I sort of just said we would be back. Why?"

"You have Defence after lunch, right?"

She blinked. "How do you possibly know that?"

"I figured out you probably had the same schedule as the one we had last year. We always had defence after lunch on Mondays."

Charlotte actually looked surprised. "That is… shockingly impressive that you just know that off the top of your head. Most people in my year still have to check their timetable. Do you know mine off by heart?"

"If it actually is the same as ours from last year, which I'm pretty sure it is, then yes, I do. I've been over this with Daphne, Blaise and Tracey, but I don't think I've ever actually explained it to you. For now, let's just say I remember things and leave it off at that."

"Uh-huh," Charlotte said, "whatever you say. One last question before we move on. Is this a… new thing of yours?"

"What, remembering things? No, I've been able to do that forever."

Charlotte nodded, an oddly pensive expression in place. "Alright, fair enough. So what was so urgent?" Harry subtly jerked his head towards the door. Charlotte sighed. "You have to be the most paranoid person I know."

"Everything I've learned over the last fourteen months tells me that paranoia gets you places."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lead the way then."

Within a few moments, the two of them found themselves alone in an empty classroom. Funnily enough, it was the same classroom that Malfoy, Selwyn, Nott and Macnair had locked him up in last year.

"Well?"

"You know things about Lockhart," Harry said bluntly. "I'm not sure what, but they're important. You knew right away he wasn't a fraud. Even in the book store, you told me I was wrong, and as far as I know, you had never met him before that day."

"What's your point?"

"You don't deny it then?"

"Of course I don't deny it. What's the point in playing word games if the other person is so convinced they know the answer that nothing you say is going to change their mind." She scrunched up her face. "There's also the fact that it's true."

"Yet you haven't told us anything."

Charlotte seemed to ponder that. "Harry, I can't tell you much. Partially because I don't actually know much about Gilderoy Lockhart at all. Let me finish," she said forcefully, seeing that he was skeptical. "I know a lot about other things that let me make very educated guesses on some things about Lockhart. I would have bet my family's fortune that he wasn't a fraud, but I didn't technically know that. I just knew a lot of other things that all pointed in that direction."

"Okay, point. But it still doesn't answer the question. Why don't you tell us what you assume about him? Or whatever it is you know that lets you make guesses?"

"I'll just be honest with you and we can be done, because I doubt you're going to let it drop unless I am. The short answer is, I can't. As in, I physically can't tell you what I know because magic won't let me. I don't know what I can and can't say, exactly, because it's up to magic to interpret it. But I'd rather not start telling you something and then be forced to stop, only for you to have context that leads you in a completely different direction."

"Oaths?"

"Something like that, yes."

Harry wondered what Charlotte could possibly know that would be so important it was classified under oath. The Weitts family was known for probably being the most secretive family in the country. Could it be family business, of some sort?

"If I ask you a question and you can answer it, will you?"

Charlotte suddenly looked suspicious. "That depends on the question, I guess. And why you're asking."

"Fine, since you were so honest with me, let me do the same in return. Gilderoy Lockhart thinks I'm the Heir of Slytherin." Charlotte's eyes widened. "He thinks I'm to blame for both Samhain and for Creevey. He basically just told me that he'll be watching me like a hawk and that if I am the one going around petrifying cats and kidnapping students, that I'm completely screwed because he's going to catch me."

"Okay," Charlotte admitted, "That's actually a pretty good reason for being interested in Lockhart."

"I certainly thought so."

"So what's your question, then?"

"Do you know or think that Lockhart is a Legilimens?"

Charlotte pursed her lips, obviously thinking about that. Eventually, she shook her head, actually looking disappointed. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I have no idea. This isn't even me not being able to tell you things, I actually just don't know. I have no proof that he is, and there aren't really any real hints, but I wouldn't be surprised at all if he knows Legilimency. I'm just not confident enough to say either way. I'd rather disappoint you than tell you the wrong answer."

Harry sighed. "Fair enough, I suppose." He took out his wand and tapped it on his wrist, causing the time to appear in front of him. "Speaking of Lockhart, you should probably get to Defence."

"Yeah, I should," Charlotte agreed. "For those of us who don't have our friends' timetables memorized, what class do you have next?"

"History, but I don't go to that class."

"I might start doing that."

"Go for it, as long as you have faith you'll still do well on tests and exams. I just go for the tests so I can write them. I read the textbook and get on well enough."

"I might try it for a test or two and see how it goes. Anyway, I'm off. Enjoy… whatever you're going to do."

"Take out books on Arithmancy and then go work on some spell casting."

"Well, like I said, enjoy."

"Thanks, have fun with Lockhart."

"I will. I'll be sure to tell you if he tries to legilimize me."

Harry laughed. "I appreciate it, Charlotte."

* * *

_**Later that night, in the Slytherin dorms…**_

_Emily,_

_I had a few questions about Legilimency._

The pause was perhaps a bit longer than normal, but not by much. If Harry's memory wasn't so sharp, he probably wouldn't have ever noticed the minor discrepancies in the promptness of her replies.

_Legilimency, this time? You have kept up with the Occlumency practices I recommended despite your newfound interest in its sister art, correct?_

_I have. I just had some questions about Legilimency._

_Very well then. Ask away, I shall answer what I can._

Harry took a moment to best decide how to word his questions.

_I have two main questions, but they both sort of tie into other things._

_That's fine. _

_First of all, the more pressing issue I have. Is there any way to tell for sure whether or not someone is a Legilimens?_

_Not until that person makes a move, I'm afraid. If somebody is a Natural Legilimens, an extremely skillful witch or wizard can sometimes tell if they are in-tune enough with magic to read its flow. But with respect, you are nowhere close to being at that level. I suspect Dumbledore to be the only person in that castle who has the ability to do that. _

That was interesting, but it was more troubling than anything else. He would have much preferred an affirmative answer to that question.

_So, if I'm not sure, my best option right now is to avoid eye contact?_

_Yes, avoid any eye contact and keep your mind clear at all times. Monitor the thoughts in your mind very closely and constantly be on the lookout for any irregularities or thoughts that seem out of place. I know it's stressful and unfortunate, but soon enough, you will be able to adequately defend your mind. At least against those who are not terribly skillful._

Harry sighed. He had somehow expected an answer to that effect, but it was disappointing nonetheless. Not that he was hiding anything damning in regards to the Heir of Slytherin, but he had no interest in Lockhart roaming around in his mind.

For that matter, he had no interest in anybody in his mind at all.

Still, loathe as he was to admit it, it was a stark reminder of exactly why it was so important that he persist with Occlumency despite the hiccup with Grace the previous week. It had been quite a bad mistake on her part, but if Lockhart may be making attempts to poke around his head in the future, he thought that getting back to lessons in Active Occlumency was going to be a necessity going forward.

_Alright, _he wrote back, _that really sucks, but it's not surprising. I had one other question and then I'll stop bothering you for the night._

The pause was practically non-existent this time.

_I believe I have said something to this effect before, but you're not a bother at all, Harry. There are few things in this world I enjoy more than magic, and you have been more than a pleasant pen pal. If I had not been enjoying the correspondence, I simply would have cut it off long ago. Go ahead and ask your question._

Again, Harry felt an odd warmth in his chest. After spending weeks identifying emotions with perfect clarity in preparation for emotional manipulation, he thought he might finally be able to recognize the sensation. Turning his mind inward, Harry isolated it easily enough. It was an emotion that had been rarely felt in his life, but he was indeed able to accurately identify it with little issues.

Pride, and perhaps a bit of content.

_Alright, _he responded, not entirely sure how one was supposed to reply to a statement like that. Merlin, he was clueless with emotions. Even if he could now understand his own, how to actually deal with them was such a foreign concept. _I have an… admission to make._

_Go on._

_I think I might be a Natural Legilimens. If I am, it's to a lesser extent than my friend, but I'm not sure it's possible to be more or less of it._

_There are certainly levels to natural Legilimency. The key component is that a natural Legilimens has pre-created links in place to the minds of others. The difference is the strength of said links. The most powerful witches and wizards aren't always the ones with the strongest Natural Legilimency links, either. My question is, why do you think you're a Natural Legilimens?_

_It's… kind of complicated._ _I've always been able to tell when somebody was lying, but I can't really explain how. I've always been good at reading people and the general mood of a room. But earlier today, I sort of had it trigger in my mind. To get my friend's attention without being obvious about it, I sort of just try and blast out my thoughts and hope she picks up on them, and she always does. Well today, I think she did the same thing and I noticed. I basically blasted out that I wanted to talk, and I felt… something? Not even really a thought, more of an impression. The general idea was "I'll be there in a few minutes" and she was._

_Judging by the limited amount of information I have, I would say that you are almost definitely a Natural Legilimens. Even if you can't pick up precise thoughts, what you have described certainly fits many of the common characteristics. Here is another one. Do you ever find that in conversation with people who you know are unaware of Occlumency that you just know exactly what to say? Oftentimes, it isn't even a conscious thought. But thinking back, has this ever happened to you?_

Harry didn't need to think about it. The answer was a resounding yes. Almost every teacher he had ever charmed in muggle school fell into this categorization. Hell, the same could be said for Longbottom last year…

This was something new to ponder on for certain.

* * *

_**November 13, 1992**_

_**The Potions Classroom**_

_**10:46 AM**_

With satisfaction, Harry bottled what he considered to be a perfect potion. Or at least as close as he had ever gotten whilst working with Neville. The two of them had kept up their common practice of last year. Meaning, they worked together at least once every two weeks, often once per week. Neville was still by no means good at potions. Harry actually still considered him to be below average in the field, but he'd come a very long way since they had started to work together last spring.

"That might be the best one we've ever brewed," Neville commented after Harry returned from handing the potion in to Snape.

"It might be," Harry agreed. "It's definitely one of the best. You've improved a ton since last spring. It's been a lot easier to brew with you lately." Harry could practically see the euphoria leak from Neville as his face split into an ear to ear grin.

"Cheers, Harry! You've been super helpful the whole time. I wish we were able to talk more, actually." The last admission was made in a rather small voice, but Harry graced Neville with a smile in return, trying to set the boy at ease.

"Yeah, it's a bit complicated with the whole Gryffindor and Slytherin thing. I've also just been a bit caught up this year. Quidditch has taken up a lot of time, and I've also been trying to get further ahead in my classes and the like."

"It's okay," Neville assured him. "I don't blame you, or anything. Just a thought, that's all." He paused. "For what it's worth, I… don't think you're the Heir of Slytherin."

Harry smiled thinly. "This is why we get along, Neville. Your tie might not be my favourite colour, but at least you have some sense. More than I can say for my brother or his two stooges."

"Hermione's really smart," Neville defended.

Harry shrugged. "Being smart and having sense aren't the same thing. A person can have both, but not always."

Neville looked conflicted. He was too polite to contradict Harry but too loyal to his own housemates to accept any criticism of Hermione. Really, it was an impossible situation.

Instead, he chose to broach a more interesting topic of conversation. "She asked about the Chamber of Secrets, you know?"

Loathe as he was to admit it, Harry found himself grudgingly interested. He might have had no plans to get involved if things escalated further, but natural curiosity was a strong force. He could be informed and still stay out of things. There was hardly any rule against it.

"Who did she ask? I doubt anybody knows much about it other than what's written in _Hogwarts, A History._"

"Binns," Neville answered to Harry's surprise. "It was the first time I'd ever heard anybody ask him anything in class. He didn't seem keen on answering, but Hermione talked him into it eventually. She said something like how myths were based on facts, or something."

"I never said she wasn't intelligent. Did he say anything interesting? Anything that wasn't written in _Hogwarts, A History_? Assuming you've read it, of course."

Neville shrugged. "I have, but it was more sort of me skimming it. I… don't really remember much from it. My memory isn't very good, you see."

Harry had noticed as much, so the admission came as no surprise to him. "Fair enough. What was it Binns said?"

"He said that Gryffindor and Slytherin had gotten into an argument over blood purity. Over who should be let into the school, you know. Slytherin wanted it to only be purebloods, I think. Either way, Gryffindor wanted everybody to be able to attend. There was supposedly this big fight over it, and Slytherin ended up leaving. Binns said that's all known information. No rumours about it."

Harry nodded. It matched what he'd read on the subject, both in the infamous compendium of Hogwarts and in other, historical texts.

"Anyway, the Chamber of Secrets is apparently part of a legend. He said that Headmasters and Headmistresses have been trying to find it for years, but none have managed it. When Slytherin left the school, the legend said he left some sort of monster behind. Some sort of monster that would purge the school of all the Muggleborns. Apparently, only his true heir can open it and unleash the monster."

Harry frowned. All of that had indeed been in _Hogwarts, A History _except for that final tidbit. According to the book, Slytherin had left a monster behind out of spite. But the book never really clarified a purpose. It sort of just made it sound as if the monster was going to one day escape and ruin the school. He wondered where Binns had gotten that particular bit of information from. Or whether he had just assumed it based on the reasons for Slytherin's departure. Harry wasn't really sure whether or not setting up a monster to carry out your bidding a millennia later was possible, but he supposed anything might well be possible with magic. Perhaps he was just too ignorant to see how it all fit together.

And the bit about a true heir definitely hadn't been in _Hogwarts, A History._

At that exact moment, the bell rang, signifying the end of the period. Harry and Neville had finished early, so up until now, they had been talking quietly at their station. Wishing his closest Gryffindor acquaintance a good day, Harry joined Daphne, Pansy, Blaise and Tracey in leaving the classroom as all four of them started making their way up towards the Great Hall.

"You're getting much better at potions," Daphne complimented. "You must be. You and Longbottom have finished second the last few times. Considering how miserable he is at the subject, that's impressive."

Harry shrugged. "He's not great, no. He's getting better though. He can at least follow simple instructions now, and I don't have to watch over his shoulder like a hawk the whole time. It's progress. Coaching him through the brew definitely doesn't slow me down as much as it used to."

Daphne just hummed. "If you say so. Want to work together next Friday? It seems fair. You had the disadvantage during this double-period. You can have the advantage next one." Her confidence was casual. She wasn't going out of her way to brag, it just sort of came up and she saw no reason to downplay it.

"Yeah, that sounds good to me," Harry agreed with a smile. "Once I get further ahead in my other subjects, I might start looking into some more advanced potions and theories. I'll probably pick your brain a bit when I do."

"You're more than welcome to."

"What does one talk about with a Gryffindor?" Blaise asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I admit I don't spend much time with them, but it seems like most of them would struggle to keep up." Tracy and Daphne smiled amusedly whilst Pansy hid a giggle behind her hand. She seemed to rather enjoy Blaise's dry sense of humour.

"Depends on the day, really. Most of the time, it's just normal gossip."

By now, he had decided not to inform his friends of anything that Dobby had told him. He saw no reason for them to know. If he wasn't getting involved, he saw no reason for them to. Plus, that was rather sensitive information. Harry trusted them, but parting with important, delicate information was still something he was rather hesitant to do, especially when he had nothing to gain by doing so. But Neville's gossip was harmless, really. Aside from the tidbit about the monster's supposed purpose, all of what Neville had told him could be found in easily accessible books.

"Apparently, Granger asked Binns about the Chamber of Secrets. More amazingly, he actually stopped reading from his notes long enough to answer her."

"Truly astounding," Blaise agreed with a smirk. "It's an occasion for the history books. We should start a petition. I wonder how Binns would feel about sliding it into his curriculum."

"Shut up, you prat!" Tracey said with a laugh, gently shoving Blaise before turning back to Harry. "What did he answer with?"

"Long story short, Slytherin and Gryffindor had a fight over whether or not muggleborns should attend Hogwarts. Gryffindor won the argument and apparently, Slytherin left. Legend has it he left this fabled Chamber of Secrets behind with a monster hidden inside. Only his true heir is supposed to be able to open the chamber and unleash the monster within. When it's released, whatever is inside is supposed to purge the school of all muggleborns."

"How delightfully dramatic."

"Watch it, Greengrass," Blaise protested. "That's supposed to be my line."

Daphne sniffed. "It's hardly my fault you're too slow. I know it's hard, but get that brain of yours into motion, will you."

"Now, now, Daphne, play nice. I have to let you get one every once in a while."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Watch it, Greengrass," she quoted in a poor imitation of Blaise's silky voice. "That's supposed to be my line. If that's you letting me, Zabini, I've misread this conversation."

"Well, obviously."

Harry could not help but smile as they began to climb the marble staircase.

He really did enjoy the company of his friends.

"Anyway," Tracey cut in, "I don't suppose any of you are going to look more into the whole Chamber of Secrets thing?" At once, all of them looked at Harry.

"I don't plan on it. If it's all the same, I'd rather not get caught up in drama this year if I can avoid it. I think I could be doing more productive things than looking up myths and legends."

"But what if they're true?" Pansy countered. "Whoever petrified the cat wrote on the wall saying they were the heir. It was probably the same person who kidnapped Creevey."

"If I found out about some myth that would scare half the school to death, I would probably use it too," Daphne pointed out reasonably.

"I have to agree with Daphne on this one," Blaise admitted with a sigh, sounding truly disappointed by the fact.

Pansy glanced to Harry, clearly interested in his opinion on the matter. "I probably would too," he added. "Granted, it would actually be sort of brilliant to advertise that if you actually were the heir."

"Why?" Tracey asked, confused. "Wouldn't that just be giving it away?"

"Look at our reactions. Most reasonable people would assume that the whole thing is either a myth or that the person attacking cats, or students, or both is just using it. If they actually were the Heir of Slytherin, them claiming that would probably lead everybody down the wrong path. Headmasters and Headmistresses have tried to find this thing for centuries, is what Longbottom told me Binns said. If that's true, they'd probably be wasting their time."

"So to summarize," said Pansy, "Either option is possible."

Harry shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Well that won't do," she decided. "I'm going to write home and see if Mother or Father know anything. I'm sure they'd love to hear about all the dangerous things happening at Hogwarts. It might help them and Lord Malfoy prove how useless Dumbledore is as a Headmaster." She smiled. "And who knows? They might even know something useful they don't mind telling me."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not touching this one, but you go right ahead, Pansy. Do tell what you find, will you?"

"Of course."

As if it had ever been a question. Sharing gossip was probably Pansy Parkinson's favourite hobby. That or sorting through the tangle of gossip and finding out what was truth and what was lies. She was disturbingly, unnaturally good at that, too.

* * *

_**Later that night, in the dungeons...**_

Charlotte was confused.

Earlier that day, she had received a letter at breakfast, courtesy of her Head of House. Apparently, Professor Snape required her presence in his office that night at nine o'clock. What exactly Snape could possibly want her for, she had no idea. To her knowledge, she hadn't done anything worth note as of late. Unless it was about her antics involving Mulciber and Jugson, but that had been some time ago. If the two of them were going to run to Snape over the whole incident, she was reasonably sure they would have done so already. Even if they had, it wasn't exactly as if they could prove it. Unless, of course, it had been a prefect or professor who found them. If that had been the case, Charlotte was pretty sure she would have been called to Snape's office a lot sooner.

The only thing she could think of was that she had scored particularly well on their practical quiz in Charms. She knew that she had performed extremely well, but that didn't seem right to her either. She was quite certain that Harry regularly recorded jaw-dropping scores on his assignments. He had never been called to Snape's office to discuss them, as far as she knew.

Needless to say, Charlotte was more than a little bit curious to see what Snape wanted from her. Curiosity was also one of the more dominant qualities within Charlotte.

That thought was quite prevalent now, when she was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice the two people sneaking up behind her.

Thankfully, being a prodigious Natural Legilimens had its perks.

She could sense… something change around her. Reflexively, she dove to the side. It was fortunate that she did, because magic swiftly occupied the space she had been standing in just moments earlier. It was hard to tell exactly what curse had been fired towards her back, but she was pretty sure it hadn't been pleasant.

When she stood to her feet and stared down Alex Jugson and Derrick Mulciber, she was quite certain of it.

Unlike that time all those weeks ago, neither boy looked prepared to back down and Charlotte's pulse quickened. She had never practiced duelling extensively. Her mother had given her some basic tutoring in self-defence, but she could only hope it would be enough. She was easily more skilled than each of the boys individually. The problem was going to be the two of them working together. That and the fact that both of them had probably been spoon-fed nasty curses for years.

That was what Charlotte thought, at least.

The problem actually turned out to be the figure who stepped out of the nearest classroom, which had been warded. Charlotte had sensed the wards, but her senses had been so focused on Mulciber's curse that she had barely noted it.

How unfortunate a miscalculation that turned out to be, for it was this figure's red spell that hit her in the back, causing her to slump to the floor in a heap.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the out of order girl's bathroom on the second floor…**_

Charlus felt emotions churn inside of him as his two friends peered at him expectantly. Both of them were currently debating whether or not Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. Ron was completely convinced and obviously unwilling to change his stance on the matter. Hermione didn't seem to have a strong opinion either way. In her own words, all physical evidence pointed to the fact, and there were no better suspects. Charlus wanted nothing more than to deny the fact.

"You have to admit, it makes sense," Ron said darkly. "He was the only one in that corridor. He was just staring at the wall with that calculating look of his, like he had been studying his work."

"He is also unnaturally good with magic," Hermione mused. "As if he's read advanced tomes that none of us have access to, or something." She frowned. "The thing that doesn't make sense to me is that he's a halfblood. Why would he care about blood purity? All the evidence points to him, but I don't see a motive. Why go after muggleborns in the first place?"

"He hated the muggles he lived with," Charlus said quietly. "They… apparently didn't treat him great. He doesn't talk about it much, but maybe he holds a grudge."

"Must be," Ron muttered darkly. "As if a snake needed a reason to hate muggles."

"I suppose we could always check," Hermione said nervously. "It couldn't hurt, could it?"

Both boys' eyes found her at once. "How could we 'check' something like that?"

"Well… there's a potion that lets you look like anybody else. If we play it right and don't get caught, we could probably get close to him and just… ask him." She shrugged. "If we plan carefully, I don't see too much about it that could go wrong, right?"

* * *

_**Back in the abandoned classroom…**_

Charlotte came to with a painful jolt as her head snapped forcefully to the side and she felt an odd, stinging sensation on her face. It wasn't until a few seconds later, as the memory of what had just happened flooded back to the forefront of her mind that she realized she had been woken by a rather forceful slap to the face.

"Wakey, wakey, Weitts."

Charlotte hissed indignantly as she felt her face get slapped again. This time, the impact was a bit harder, and, being fully awake, if a bit groggy, she felt the full, dull force of the impact. Her eyes snapped open, and when she caught the sight of Derrick Mulciber and Alex Jugson standing over her, they practically shot sparks. She tried to scramble to her feet, or reach for her wand, but she could do neither.

Her legs were bound with magic and her arms seemed to be bound to the leg of a desk. She didn't know it, but the desk in question was currently being held in place by a strong Sticking Charm.

To put it simply, Charlotte wasn't going anywhere.

"Morning, sunshine," Mulciber mocked, getting to his feet once more as he stared hatefully down at her. Obviously, it had been he who had slapped her. When she got out of there…

"You look upset," he noted. "What's wrong, Weitts? Not so fun being the nail, is it?"

"When I get free, Mulciber, I'm going to show you exactly what it's like to be the nail."

"That would be a bad idea," Jugson warned. "If you didn't notice, we had help."

"Help that doesn't even have the courage to show up, face to face."

"Help that doesn't find you to be worth their time," Mulciber corrected. "Powerful help, Weitts. This is the end of all of this. It was supposed to be a one and done, but then you had to go and make it worse. Well, we're going to end this right about now."

Charlotte sneered. "You better get me killed or expelled, Mulciber. Otherwise, you have no chance."

Mulciber's eyes gleamed. His family was synonymous with cruelty. There was a reason his grandfather was and would stay in Azkaban for the rest of his life. "That's the beauty, Weitts. You'll never know who did it."

"In case you haven't noticed, I've seen your faces."

"The potion, Alex?" Alex Jugson reached a pale hand into his robes and removed a small vial of dark, purple potion. The liquid was so dark it was nearly black. "Since there's no way in hell you know what this is, let me fill in the gaps, Weitts. It's called Celare Identitatem. Ring any bells?"

Charlotte's face stayed impassive. She would not give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. However awful that potion was, she was going to occlude her mind and no reaction would slip.

"It's rough translation is hide identity. Alex and I have added some of our own blood to this potion. What will happen once you drink it is that you'll fail to remember us in our last interaction." He smirked cruelly. "You'll remember the interaction itself though. We wouldn't want that to leave that pretty little head of yours. The message wouldn't exactly… sink in."

With that sadistic smirk still in place, Mulciber withdrew a long, silver, ornate dagger from his robes. Instinctively, Charlotte knew that it was no ordinary knife. She could feel the apprehension rolling off of Jugson. He might have been a bit jaded, but he was clearly not a sadist. Evidently, Mulciber was a sociopath, or something.

"When I say sink in, I mean it literally. This dagger's wounds can never be healed. They scar terribly and they don't fade… ever." He smirked. "I imagine little Miss Perfect's ego might take a hit if we cut her up a bit and stick her to a wall for the rest of the school to see, new scars and all."

Charlotte's face didn't change, but she felt her body tense. That level of public humiliation… yes, Mulciber had read her well. That would be quite the hit to her mental health.

"We might need to clean up the blood though. Wouldn't want to hide those scars."

Then, hungrily licking his lips, sadistic glee prominent in his eyes, he advanced on her with the knife...

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Before anybody reviews and says Mulciber's and Jugson's plan is too dark or advanced for an eleven-year-old:**

**Minor spoiler here, but they did not orchestrate that. As for who did… you will find out later in the year. Oh, and Mulciber actually is a sociopath. That will come up much later in the story.**

**Next chapter will be the first of a three-part title that will take us up to the Yule break, so I hope you are all excited for that.**

**Please read and review.**

* * *

**Editor's Note (Luq): **

**Hmm...I wonder what's going to happen next. Oh, and also, that whole sig fig thing in the library was a last-minute addition by me. It was sort of an inside joke on Discord **

**Cheers**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 17th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**A special thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Sesc for their contributions this week.**


	37. SS Ch 19: Deadly Drama Part I

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 19: Dangerous Duels and Deadly Drama Part I**

* * *

_**November 13, 1992**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**9:29 PM**_

Charlotte had stayed completely impassive right up to the point when Mulciber had sliced clean through the sleeve of her robes and pressed the tip of the dagger into the flesh of her forearm. She couldn't help it. She screamed a terrible, high-pitched scream. It wasn't a normal cut. It felt nothing like a normal cut. There was far too much blood for it to be a normal cut. The room swam in front of her eyes, both at the pain and sudden loss of blood.

"Just a taster," Mulciber hissed near her ear. "Now for something… more noticeable." To her horror, he began to extend the dagger towards her face.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

With a thunderous _bang,_ the door to the abandoned classroom slammed open and before Charlotte's brain could catch up with what was going on, she saw Jugson fall out of the corner of her eye. Mulciber quickly withdrew the dagger and dove to the side. With her vision still swimming but no longer obscured, Charlotte could see who had entered the room, and she actually shivered at the sight.

It was Harry, but he looked nothing like the boy she was accustomed to seeing.

He looked absolutely enraged, and Charlotte's hazy mind was half trying to analyze how the air around him seemed to change with his moods, and half trying to figure out exactly how the hell he had found her.

* * *

_**Sometime earlier, in the Slytherin common room…**_

Harry's vivid eyes stayed fixed on the entrance to the Slytherin common room even after Charlotte had left. It was one of the rare nights where he actually stayed in the common room. Presently, he was trouncing Blaise in a game of chess, much to the boy's dismay. It annoyed Blaise even more because Harry hadn't grown up playing chess, even though he knew the basics. What Blaise had overlooked was the fact that Harry's mind and memory were both impeccably sharp. He could remember every move and mistake he had ever made in previous chess matches from the prior year. The first few times they had played, Harry lost decisively. However, thanks largely to his memory, he was an exceptionally quick study. The matches had changed significantly, and Harry was currently beating Blaise without putting in much effort.

He'd spent more time looking at the entrance to the common room than he had on the game.

'What are you looking at?" Blaise asked, clearly a bit frustrated. "Or are you just trying to prove you can beat me without paying attention?"

"I just have other things on my mind, that's all."

He found the circumstances leading up to Charlotte's exit from the common room to be suspicious.

The few times he had received invitations to Snape's office, they had _never _come by mail. They were either delivered by another student or Snape had told him to be there at the end of a Potions lesson. He'd said this to Charlotte, too. She dismissed it as a coincidence. After all, both times Harry had been called to the man's office- once over Pansy's ploy and the other to receive his new broom- had been rather special circumstances. Maybe for something more mundane, Snape wouldn't go to the trouble of being so dramatic. Harry had agreed, not wishing to press the point.

But he knew that was not Snape.

Snape was nothing if not dramatic.

His start-of-term speech to the first years had proven it, as had pretty much every introduction to any lesson he had ever given.

What was odder to Harry was the time.

He had never heard of a teacher requesting the presence of a student later than eight o'clock.

Of course, either of these things, or even both of them could easily be chalked up to simple coincidence. Most probably would make that assumption, even. Charlotte certainly had.

But not Harry.

Harry would admit that this year, he had been exceedingly paranoid, but he thought he had all the right to be. Especially after growing scales and being set up as a criminal.

Whether he was being overdramatic or not, only time would tell, but the longer Harry waited for his friend to return, the more persistently his instincts warned him that something was amiss.

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

His green eyes were practically glowing straight out of his skull and his normally perfect hair seemed to stand on end as if it had been subjected to a sudden bolt of lightning. Another curse left his wand, immobilizing the falling form of Alex Jugson. By now, he'd stepped into the room and was looking for Mulciber, who had darted behind a row of desks as he made for the door. Harry's wand trained on him at the last second as he fired off a curse Charlotte had never heard before. It missed by mere inches, but it left a long, deep slash in the wall. Mulciber made it out the door and Harry whipped around, obviously about to follow him when he paused, clearly remembering that Charlotte was still in the room.

He cursed violently as he turned, eyes widening upon her. "We need to get you to the hospital wing."

So obviously, the wound was bad.

Or the amount of blood, she supposed.

Or both.

"Not like this," Charlotte muttered, weakly. She was more than just dizzy now. She felt ill, faint. "They can't see me like this… nobody can see me like this."

Charlotte thought she saw an odd look on his face. Sympathy? Understanding? But before she could register that, his wand was shockingly aimed towards her. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, but you're going to have to trust me." Before she could protest, her world once more vanished in a familiar flash of red light and for the second time that night, Charlotte was rendered unconscious.

* * *

_**About an hour later, at Potter Manor...**_

With a loud _whoosh_, the small fire located just off of James Potter's favourite sitting room erupted in green flames, sending emerald sparks of light dancing through the air, suddenly and vibrantly illuminating the dimly-lit room.

Out of the fire, his dark silhouette starkly apparent against the vivid light of the flames, which licked hungrily at his black overcoat to no avail, stepped Peter Pettigrew. He'd come from a long day at work. Not eventful, physically taxing or anything of that sort, but long. Monotonous, above all else, which had only made it feel all the longer. One might have expected him to look dishevelled or exhausted. Perhaps even frustrated that he had agreed to this meeting in the first place two weeks ago.

But none of that described Peter Pettigrew's outward appearance as he deftly stepped from the roaring flames and into an all too familiar area within Potter Manor.

Peter looked awake, alert and even eager. When he first stopped his rapid spinning and settled in the correct grate, there had even been a spark of anticipation dancing in his watery-blue eyes, giving them an odd, extra sort of gleam. Of course, none of this was visible at the time, as it was disguised by the flames, which were nearly blinding in contrast to the low light around them. By the time Pettigrew stepped out of the fireplace, his face was stony and impassive. Suddenly, he looked very much as if he had been dreading this meeting for a very long time, even if such things were blatantly untrue.

A minute or so later, Peter was greeted by James, who wore casual robes and looked a lot more on edge than his best friend of twenty years.

"Wormy." Peter noticed that the cheerful note which was usually prevalent in his friend's voice was noticeably absent. There seemed to be a firm layer of tension surrounding James and for the briefest of moments, Peter felt a slight pang of pity for what James was about to learn.

A slight pang which he ruthlessly suppressed as he simultaneously berated himself for his brief moment of weakness.

"James," he greeted in return, his voice obviously sounding more solemn than he actually felt. "Out early today?"

"Not so much out early. Moody just didn't make me spend hours longer there than I needed to."

Peter shrugged. "Same thing, really. The old dog's always doing that to everybody. Any time he doesn't, you're off early, as far as I'm concerned."

James sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right. Merlin, what's the Auror Office going to look like without him?"

"Probably a lot less chaotic," Peter answered dryly. "You've heard the rumours as well then?"

"Yup. Word around the office is that Scrimgeour is going to announce his retirement at the dinner the night after the solstice. From there, Bones will take over."

"And she'll run a ship tighter than a noose," Peter summarized succinctly. "Moody's chaos doesn't really fit well with her."

"She'd never fire him, though. He's earned way too much respect."

"Nope," Peter agreed, "she'll either wait for a mistake or slowly try to talk him out of it. Merlin knows if anyone deserves a happy retirement, it's that man."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean he'll get it," James said with an unwilling smile. "I doubt retirement is going to be kind to Mad-Eye. I can't picture him not being busy. It's a scary thought, actually. Thinking of what he might get up to if not kept busy and in-check."

Peter shuddered. A scary thought indeed. "Shall we… er, get to business then?" Looking resigned, James nodded, and the two men made their way into the comfortable sitting room adjacent to them, taking seats in two, squash armchairs opposite one another. Peter made to begin but before he could, James raised a hand to forestall him. Then, hand still raised, he snapped his fingers, summoning a house elf.

"Firewhiskey, please." He hesitated. "Make it two bottles." His voice was an odd mixture of exhaustion and fear. The elf popped back into the room a minute or so later with James's request, along with two glasses. James poured himself one and offered the bottle and a glass to Peter, who did likewise. James downed his first glass immediately, sighing contentedly before pouring himself a second and finally looking expectantly towards Peter. "Okay," he said through a deep, steadying breath, "I'm ready."

Or, at least, he had thought he was ready.

Peter gave him an honest and clinical evaluation of what he suspected to have happened to Harry as a child. Of course, Peter knew exactly what had happened when Harry had been a child. Veritasirum was obscenely expensive and he was no legilimens, but the Imperius Curse worked just as well on those with no defence for it. On command, the Dursleys had spilled every secret about Harry Potter, and now James was being buried under their collective weight.

He learned how his son and heir had brutally worked and lived life like a house-elf. He learned about how he'd been unjustly punished for offences such as besting Dudley on a test as a child. He learned about how, when the Dursleys decided punishment was needed, the punishment was often carried out crudely and physically. He even learned about how his son and heir, a future lord of one of Magical Britain's most prominent houses, had spent most of his formative years locked in a spider-infested broom cupboard under a rickety set of stairs.

By the time Peter had finished his tale, James had already consumed what was probably an unhealthy amount of Firewhiskey. Later, James would reflect on the moment and wonder exactly how he had stayed coherent.

"Fuck," he muttered, not quite knowing what else to say to the jarring revelations that had just ploughed straight through him as if he were unsuspecting roadkill in the path of a herd of angry hippogriffs.

Peter downed his own glass, finally being able to now that his tale had concluded. "Yup," he said with a heavy sigh and dramatic smacking of his lips, "That about sums it up, I'm afraid."

"No wonder why he hated me. Oh… fuck. I knew it was bad but… FUCK!" James was suddenly coming to realize not only why Harry had been so hostile at first, but why exactly one day earning his forgiveness for a second time looked like a bleak, insurmountable mountain that he may never be able to climb.

And that wasn't all.

Since the petrification of Filch's cat, James's brain had never quite been able to stray away from the seemingly unreal possibility that Harry might somehow be the Heir of Slytherin. Actually…somehow was too ambiguous a word. He suspected he might know how, on some level. Up to this point, he'd comforted himself by repeating over and over again that there was no motive for Harry to strike out against muggleborns and, in the case of petrifying the Caretaker's cat, he supposed, squibs.

Yet now, after all of this, James could understand exactly how Harry could have possibly come to hate muggles. Whether he actually hated them or not was currently a mystery, of course, but he could see how a hatred could have blossomed over time. And he could see how once fully matured, that cynical weed would have slowly but surely polluted other things, possibly turning one to extreme measures like seeking the help of legends to achieve their morally corrupt goals.

"But James," Peter said in what the Potter Lord was certain was supposed to be a reassuring tone of voice, "Surely, Harry's not the Heir of Slytherin. Even if he were to hate muggles, he couldn't possibly be. The Potters aren't descended from Slytherin. I did some digging into your lineage over the past couple of weeks and there's no possible connection to Slytherin. Unless you somehow think he, a twelve-year-old boy, is the one physically doing the petrifying, I don't see how it's possible."

James deflated slightly in front of Peter's eyes. There were some secrets that even he couldn't know. Some secrets that were fearfully guarded so closely that revealing them would be considered the highest act of political treason. "I guess you're right, Wormy." James hadn't quite realized that though Peter had no idea what the context was, the man knew immediately that James was lying.

James stayed blissfully ignorant of this fact, snapping his fingers once more and summoning the same house elf that had popped in earlier that night. "More Firewhiskey, please. A lot more Firewhiskey."

* * *

_**Several hours later, in the hospital wing back at Hogwarts…**_

Charlotte did not wake for some time. Even whilst unconscious, she had realized that this time, she was out for far longer. Possibly, the high number of painfully unpleasant dreams she experienced whilst in the clutches of Morpheus had something to do with her accurate assessment of the situation at hand. Nightmares would be a more accurate description of the terrible things that Charlotte saw. One painful image flashed seamlessly into the next, like her own personalized, muggle horror movie, if it had been brought to life and made so vivid that she hardly realized she was dreaming at all. The only thing that truly separated these visions from that horrific analogy was the fact that every transition was punctuated by a bright flash of red light and a familiar, searing pain in her forearm.

After some time, Charlotte did wake up. She was too dignified to scream, but much of her wanted very badly to do just that. Thankfully for her dignity, her Occlumency, while not on the level of her Legilimency, was very solid. She managed to suppress all of the negative emotions that surged to the forefront of her mind, gently easing them back into the depths of her psyche for later evaluation. Right now was not the time to scream.

Looking around the dimly-lit room with its pale ceiling and taking in its sanitary, artificial scent, Charlotte swiftly realized where she was, if for no other reason than weeks earlier, whilst he had been unconscious, she had visited Harry in this very room.

She was in the hospital wing.

"Awake, are we?"

Speaking of Harry, Charlotte recognized his voice. That was another trick with Occlumency. One could commit things to memory and recall them perfectly, so long as they actively chose to do so once the thing happened. In the case of voices, she did this whenever somebody she knew spoke. It was a practice her mother had instilled in her and Grace. Though her family motto did not centre at all around paranoia, it was certainly a quality that they lived by. Her mother had justified the practice easily enough. If a person was masked, disillusioned or disguised in any such way when they spoke, she would know their identity, so long as whichever method of disguise they employed didn't change their voice as well.

"I suppose so." She felt a small swell of pride when she heard her own voice come out calm and level. She really did love Occlumency. Calm and level was certainly not how she internally felt at the moment. "What time is it? How long have I been out?"

"It's around midnight," Harry informed her. "You've been out for almost three hours. Nothing too serious. You lost a terrifying amount of blood, but a few blood-replenishing potions fixed that easily enough."

Charlotte tensed before asking her next question and, to her disgust, her voice came out small and vulnerable. "She couldn't heal the scar, could she?"

"No." Harry's voice was different. It was low, and Charlotte could tell he was trying very hard to modulate it. Clearly, he didn't like the fact much more than she did. Nevertheless, she appreciated his honesty, even if the answer itself sickened her beyond belief.

"Bastards!" she hissed in a hateful whisper, her voice quavering as she took deep, calming breaths. She would have cried right there if not for her own mental control and for the third time that night, she was intensely grateful for said control over her emotions.

Harry nodded curtly. "Mulciber and Jugson," he said quietly. "I'm sure you knew that already, but just in case they did anything to your memory."

"They were planning to," Charlotte said in a small voice.

"The potion, I take it?"

Charlotte nodded. "Please tell me that's destroyed?"

Harry hesitated. "It's not."

"Where is it? Please tell me they didn't get away with it? If they got away with it-"

"Charlotte, calm down." He stepped closer to her bed and pulled up a chair. Before, he'd been leaning casually against the wall. For a moment, Charlotte worried his movements would wake the matron. Then, she realized that this was Harry she was thinking about. Of course, he had privacy spells in effect. Now that she opened her mental senses, she could feel the magic around them, thick and heavy in the air. How he had managed to sneak in here was another matter altogether, but she felt that they had more important business on hand, so she didn't ask.

"Who has it, then?"

"I do. If you had told me your memories were tampered with, I would have given it to Pomfrey, or Snape, or whoever would need to examine and hopefully reverse it."

"And now that you don't need to do that?"

Harry's face darkened. "I don't imagine this potion is at all legal, whatever it is."

"I've never even heard of it until tonight, but I'm sure it's not."

"Well then, I doubt Dumbledore can keep them in Hogwarts when I shove this under that crooked nose of his. If we're lucky, the fuckers might even get legally charged."

Charlotte had never heard Harry curse with such vulgarity before now. It was odd and took her aback. This was the most unhinged she had perhaps seen him thus far in their relationship. Except for Samhain, when he had brutalized Draco Malfoy, but that was another matter altogether. The surprise at his tone and then soft, warm feelings of its implications were not enough to crush her sharp and immediate reply.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"You are not giving that potion to Dumbledore, or Snape, or anybody else. You're not telling anybody about this, either."

"Charlotte-"

"And you are _not _getting involved in this!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Those two dickheads just assaulted one of my best friends with a deadly weapon. There is no way I'm not getting involved with this."

Charlotte sighed; this conversation was going to go down a road she would rather not cross. "What if I told you that said friend _really _didn't want you involved?"

Harry frowned deeply. "I would say that said friend better have a very good reason for wanting me to stay out of it."

Charlotte met his eyes and her stare was hard. "I have to do this on my own, Harry." Her voice was small. Not quite feeble, but it somehow sounded inadequate.

"Why?"

"Pride."

"Elaborate."

Charlotte huffed, not at all pleased with how this conversation was going thus far. "Because I hate feeling powerless," she admitted. "It's… not a feeling I'm used to. I was raised with every advantage possible, and power was preached to me forever. I don't just mean magical power, either. Power, to me, is control. I'm… a bit of a control freak."

Idly, Harry remembered her sister making the same admission back in July whilst in the confines of her bedroom at Weitts Manor during their first-ever long, one on one meeting. That had been the day Harry had agreed to protect Charlotte in exchange for direct tutoring in the Mind Arts.

"When I was in that room," Charlotte continued, audibly shivering in spite of herself, "I never felt like I had less control. And then… this." She touched her forearm gingerly, though it still lay under the sheets, so Harry couldn't see it. "All of it. I need to do it myself. It's personal and I need… I need to get control back, myself."

Harry looked to Charlotte as if he were pondering very deeply. Inside the mind of the forsaken Potter, there was a war going on as two opposing storms brewed and clashed forcefully with each other.

On one side was the protectiveness Harry held towards all of his friends, mixed with his promise to Grace. He had been tormented for years, and allowing anybody to do that to any person he cared for didn't sit well with him at all. And, he had promised Grace that he would keep her little sister safe.

But the other side of him… damn his empathy, was screaming for Charlotte and her situation. The feeling was so relatable. For opposite reasons, granted. Charlotte had been in control her entire life, so losing it was jarring because it was a sudden and forceful shift away from the comfortable normality she had grown accustomed to. Harry, on the other hand, had never experienced what it felt like to control anything until he had arrived at Hogwarts fourteen and a half months ago. He hated the feeling of being powerless above all else. His mind remembered what it felt like being bound by Malfoy, Macnair, Nott and Selwyn. Charlotte's situation really wasn't all that different.

But even that was a contradiction. If Harry let Charlotte go at the group of boys alone, he would feel powerless once more, for his actions wouldn't be able to directly influence the outcome. An outcome he was deeply interested in, both as Charlotte's friend and as a person who had promised her older sister that he would manage such outcomes. Even if he hadn't liked Charlotte, pissing off Grace Weitts would never have landed on his to-do list. It actually ranked quite high on his list of things to never touch with a forty-foot pole.

This time, it was Harry's turn to sigh. "What if we work together? You'll still be getting your revenge personally. It'll still be you gaining back control, and-"

"No."

"But it doesn't-

"Merlin, you're impossible!" Charlotte exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that it was the dead of night. Both pre-teens were suddenly very thankful for the privacy wards that Harry had erected long before Charlotte had even awoken.

"There's something else, isn't there? Another reason you don't want me involved. One you don't want to tell me."

"I didn't want to tell you any of this!" Charlotte bit out. Harry knew she wasn't truly upset with him. Becoming snappish in a high-pressure situation was something he could very much relate to, so he didn't hold it against her in the slightest. She shut her eyes tightly. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." Charlotte's primary grievance had been something that Harry could very much relate to. If that trend continued, there was a very real possibility Charlotte's most recent statement could be the furthest thing from the truth.

She looked sheepish. "Actually, you might understand. I… spoke without thinking." Harry's lips twitched. Ah, the stereotypes. Millions of teenage boys and girls alike screaming to their parents that they could never understand their problems. It was the main plot point of countless angst-filled teenage dramas.

"There's only one way to find out."

Charlotte hesitated. It was very clear to anyone with a set of eyes or an ounce of intellect that she was looking for any way out of spilling whatever it was that was on her mind. After she clearly found no methods to do so, she visibly deflated, but still mustered up enough energy to glare vehemently at Harry. "This does not leave this room… ever."

He had a feeling anything other than immediate acceptance wouldn't be taken favourably. "Charlotte, you can tell me anything. If you haven't noticed, you're not the only one with secrets. I understand how important they are more than most people." After a long, tense pause, Charlotte let out a dramatic sigh and began to speak in a resigned tone of voice.

"I can't have help with this, because it's just going to prove what everybody's been saying this whole time, and even before I got to Hogwarts."

"Which is?"

"That I'm just Grace Weitts's little sister. There's nothing special about me, I just come from a rich family and have a talented older sister. Everything I ever do at Hogwarts will be because of Grace. Anything I do at Hogwarts that isn't because of Grace won't mean anything, because she's already done it. What can I do? Get an O+? Nope, she's done that already. Be a Prefect? Nope, she's done that too. Be Head Girl? Guess what? Grace has done that too. The only thing I could do is join the Quidditch team, and you'd never catch me dead doing that.

"If I go and run off to my older, more powerful friend, it's just going to be that all over again with you. Then, even when Grace is gone, the one percent chance I have of being anything other than Grace Weitts's little sister is gone. At that point, everything I do is only going to be because of Harry Potter. It will be the same thing all over again. I might never make it out of Grace's shadow, even if I'm going to try with everything I have for the rest of my life, but the last thing I need is a second shadow."

A heavy silence permeated the hospital wing as Charlotte looked pointedly down at the floor, trying to fight tears from blossoming in her eyes as she shuffled her feet. She couldn't look up. She couldn't bear to see the look of disgust on Harry's face at how immature and childish she was. He must be laughing at this. It had taken him what? A month to step out of the oppressive shadow cast upon him by his twin? He must be wondering why Charlotte was making such a big deal out of it. Wondering what was so difficult about it, why she was being so childish.

On the contrary and unbeknownst to Charlotte, Harry felt his heartstring tug.

Yes, he could understand that very well. Being his own person and free from all that came with being Charlus Potter's brother was his dearest ambition. It was, above all else, what he desired to one day accomplish. For different reasons, mind you. Charlotte's was due to her own sense of inadequacy. Harry felt that, sometimes, though it had more to do with his upbringing than anything else. And he felt it more around people like Charlotte herself, as well as Daphne. But oh yes, he understood very clearly, and during that moment, he knew exactly what Charlotte had been planning. He knew exactly why she had made her moves this year, and he could see how every single one of them tied into her plan.

It appeared that she had bitten off more than she could chew tonight, but try as he might, knowing her intention and now understanding her motives, Harry couldn't find it within himself to fault her.

"Okay," he muttered softly, causing Charlotte to nervously lookup. To her surprise, she saw none of what she had expected. She saw an odd blend of compassion and understanding in his eyes.

But it was definitely compassion. Not pity, thank Merlin. There was none of that at all; Charlotte knew that for obvious reasons.

"You win, I'll leave you to it." He paused. "If things get really serious and whatever plan you work out backfires, I will get involved." Charlotte nodded her understanding gratefully as warmth surged up towards her chest. It was so intense that goosebumps rose up all over her arms and neck. "I understand perfectly. Just… please be careful, Charlotte."

She nodded, offering him a rather watery smile. If he noticed the emotion in her eyes, he didn't comment on it. "Thank you, Harry."

He felt the ward he had placed outside the door trigger. Somebody was waiting outside, and Harry instinctively knew exactly who it was.

"You have a visitor outside, I should go." Wary of any eavesdropping charm Grace might be using, Harry crept towards Charlotte, leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Between the two of us, Grace never got two O+'s in a year. Give it some thought, okay. I'll help you in any way I can." He almost jumped in surprise when he felt Charlotte take a vice-like grip on his hand. He turned back to her, and met those entrancing, bluish-silver eyes.

There was something different this time. Those eyes had always spoken of power, composure, and control. They had been the eyes of an oncoming storm, as grey, impassive and unwavering as the force of nature itself. But tonight, for perhaps the first time ever, Harry could see an extreme amount of vulnerability within them.

"Will… will you teach me to fight?" Charlotte asked in little more than a whisper. "Not help with this, just… you know… for the future?" She scowled as soon as she said it, and Harry could practically feel her self-hatred. Charlotte obviously didn't love the idea of asking for what she probably viewed as charity. "I'll teach you something in return," she hastily whispered.

What could she teach him? Politics? Intricate details about the Wizarding World that he didn't already know? She could probably teach him a great deal about both, but somehow, neither seemed like Charlotte's style.

"Teach me…"

"Legilimency."

Harry frowned, making sure his Muffliato was still in place before speaking next. Perhaps Grace knew of a way around it. Harry wouldn't put it past her, hence the whispering. It still made him feel better to know the spell was still in effect, even with that fact in mind. "Aren't you not supposed to learn Legilimency until you're a level three Occlumens?" Grace had taught him one lesson, but that had been an exception.

"Not everyone," Charlotte said softly, gently pushing him towards the door before he could argue. Before he exited, she got in one last remark, one that made his eyes widen. "Especially not people like us. Natural Legilimintes have their own rules."

'Damn,' Harry thought as he nodded respectfully to Grace, gesturing for her to go in. He knew they would be having words about this at some point in the future, but that point was not yet now. 'Always has to get the last word in, that one.'

* * *

_**Meanwhile, back at Potter Manor…**_

By the time Peter had left Potter Manor late that night, James was exceptionally drunk.

Despite his drunken state, he had enough mindfulness left at his disposal to think back on what terrified him the most about their conversation.

The one thing that Peter himself was ignorant of.

"_But James," _Peter had said just hours earlier, "_surely, Harry's not the heir of Slytherin. Even if he were to hate muggles, he couldn't possibly be. The Potters aren't descended from Slytherin. I did some digging into your lineage over the past couple of weeks and there's no possible connection to Slytherin. Unless you somehow think he, a twelve-year-old boy is the one physically doing the petrifying, I don't see how it's possible."_

As James had reflected on at the time, there were some… family secrets that even his closest friend wasn't aware of.

James stepped into the Master Study of the manor and looked carefully around the room. Behind his desk sat a massive, ornate golden plaque, emblazoned with the Potter family crest. It was taller than James by at least a foot.

"Sanguis honorem tuum."

The plaque swung open like any ordinary door, revealing an unbelievable sight behind it.

The room James had walked into very much resembled a Gringotts vault. Not just in its architecture, but in what was stored within it.

Piles of heaping golden galleons stretched upwards towards the ceiling, and piles of ornate, ancient jewellery were dotted across the room.

But that wasn't why the room was so hidden, nor was how it tied into the dilemma involving the probability of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin.

That reason was emblazoned upon much of the jewels, as well as some of the books that were littered through the vault-like room.

A faded, triangular symbol containing a circular shape and vertical line. One that connected the Potters to a hidden lineage that they had masked centuries earlier.

A lineage that directly tied House Potter to the man who had founded the house of serpents.

How Slytherin's gift would trigger in Harry when it had never manifested in a Potter, not to mention the fact that James was technically first in line for the lineage, he had no idea. That fact alone should have made it impossible for Harry to be the Heir of Slytherin.

But who knew?

Many mysterious things had circulated around the Peverell family for centuries. Even now, hundreds of years after its death and wide-believed extinction, perhaps there were still mysteries that had not yet been unravelled.

* * *

_**November 15, 1992**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons**_

_**9:31 PM**_

Exactly two weeks after Grace's last Legilimency probe went astray, the two of them were finally back in their room of choice and once again, Grace had been permitted to delve back into Harry's thoughts. It was a process that she carefully eased back into. At first, the intrusions were little more than light brushes against his psyche. It took some time before she was confident enough in his calm state of mind to try a more forceful intrusion once more.

This time, it went off without a hitch. Not just once, but repeatedly. There had been once or twice, near the beginning, when she had seen very brief flashes of what she knew to be his home life before Hogwarts. This week, as soon as those images arose, she hastily retreated from Harry's mind, a fact which the younger Slytherin was profoundly grateful for.

Harry had been extremely nervous to dive back into these sessions. He had known the nerves were irrational. He did trust Grace with this practice, but they had been there nonetheless. If it hadn't been for his natural sense of paranoia being exacerbated even further by Lockhart's not-so-subtle threats and their possible implications, he might have taken far longer to dive head-first back into an endeavour which was intrinsically linked to potentially allowing others unfettered access to his thoughts.

But Lockhart's warning had bordered on a threat, if not been across that line. It was something that Harry was entirely unwilling to chance. The man certainly knew of Legilimency. There was just no way, in Harry's opinion, that he could have done all the things he had accomplished without stumbling across information on the art. Whether he was a capable user of the art or not was still up for debate, but the outcome of that debate wasn't something that he was willing to put to chance.

It was all of that which had pulled him back into this room with the thought of Occlumency at the forefront of his mind. Despite his apprehension, he had just wrapped up one of the very best sessions he and Grace had ever had regarding the Mind Arts. They both sat back and for a few minutes, they made idle small talk. Eventually, a topic that Harry had been not-so-eagerly waiting for since arriving in the room arose, and he had to ensure that his expression and emotions stayed as modulated as possible.

"You know what happened to Charlotte, don't you?"

"I do." There was no point in lying about it. He doubted whether he could lie bluntly to Grace's face and get away with it. She also did have a right to know, even if Harry planned to keep her out of the entire situation.

"Well?"

"She was ambushed by Mulciber and Jugson. There might have been somebody else involved, too. She doesn't remember being stunned by either of them."

"What did they do to her?" Grace's voice was perfectly calm and her expression gave nothing away. Her eyes told the story. It wasn't obvious, but Harry had spent many hours looking into those eyes during their sessions. He knew them well, even without the aid of his memory, and he could easily spot the minor irregularity within them. There was a minute gleam. One that was fierce, resolute, and mildly terrifying.

"They got her arm with a dagger. Apparently, it's cursed. No magic can heal whatever scars it leaves behind."

Grace tensed. "Where is this dagger now?"

"In my trunk where nobody can get it. Mulciber panicked when I burst into the room. I noticed Charlotte was gone for longer than she should have been and went looking. But yeah, I took the knife and the potion. Both of them are locked in my trunk and I'm one-hundred percent sure that nobody can get into it." That was because it had the very best legal wards that money could buy and it was protected by a Parseltongue password.

"What is this potion, then?" Grace asked carefully.

"It would have made sure that Charlotte remembered the whole thing, but not who was involved."

"I've… never heard of that potion."

Okay, that was noteworthy. Harry and Charlotte were only first and second years respectfully, even if one of them was a child prodigy. But Grace was extremely skilled and borderline prodigious for her age. Being five whole years older than Harry and nearing the conclusion of her Hogwarts education, it was in equal parts worrying and surprising that not even she had heard of this concoction.

There was also the fact that if Grace had never gone looking in illegal books on potions, Harry would stab himself with the damned dagger. Meaning, there was no chance of that statement being true.

"They could be charged for that," Grace hissed in a soft, deadly voice.

"I said the same thing. I was… very forcefully told no."

Grace's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Charlotte wants to do it on her own. She's… actually very set that I should have nothing to do with it." He placidly paused, peering pensively at Grace as he tried to ponder how best to word his next statement. "I… know you won't love that idea. I didn't either. The problem is… she laid out her reasons. I can't tell them to you, but… I don't disagree with any of them and… I can relate to a few of them."

When he saw Grace's eyes narrow, he held up a hand, imploring her to let him finish. "Charlotte can take Mulciber and Jugson. There's nothing special about either of them, as far as I can tell. Well, aside from the fact that Mulciber is a sociopath, a psychopath, or both. I'm not sure if you count that as special or just troubled. Either way, I know that Charlotte can take the two of them. It seems like this time, the only reason she failed was because another student got involved. Maybe older, maybe not; I have no idea. Thing is, after this attempt on her went to hell, I doubt those students will be queuing up to help those two against her any time soon. And if she's on the offensive, it's not exactly as if they'll be able to plan for her attack."

Grace's face was impassive. "I don't like it. I see no obvious flaw in what you've said, but I still don't like it. There are always variables involved. Any plan that doesn't have a contingency in place is a bad plan."

"Who says I don't have one?"

"Oh?"

"I'm going to be watching her very carefully from now on. If something looks like it's going to go wrong, I'll know."

"How can you possibly be confident in that? Even if you could make yourself invisible, which I frankly doubt you will be able to do for some time, it wouldn't do you any good. Until you can establish basic Occlumency defences and make sure they're sound, Charlotte's Legilimency will be able to sense you."

Harry's smile didn't waver. "I'm not planning to go anywhere near Charlotte. I don't have to be close to her to know what she's doing."

"And what, pray tell, makes you say that?"

"I have my ways."

It was actually this whole Heir of Slytherin nonsense which had given him the idea. He'd pondered one night that if he was truly the Heir of Slytherin, he would have every snake depicted in the castle firmly on his side. Then, his brain had caught up with reality and came to the realization that such a thing might actually be possible. He'd shared some preliminary conversations long after curfew with some of the snakes in the dungeons and so far, they had all complied easily enough.

The only flaw in this plan was that there were fewer snakes once you left the dungeons, but Harry was sure that wouldn't be a problem. What happened in the dungeons, stayed in the dungeons. That's where Slytherin drama tended to happen, and it was exactly where Harry was most well-positioned.

There was also the fact that he didn't plan to be completely uninvolved.

"Even if this works, what if it isn't enough? What if they seek retaliation again?"

"They won't." Harry's voice was perhaps more confident than Grace had ever heard it.

"How can you be so sure? It will be my sister's plan, not yours. You've already made it clear you're not going to do it for her."

"That doesn't mean it won't be my plan. It doesn't mean I won't have some sway."

"She won't let you help her at all," Grace said bluntly. "She's never going to let you force a plan on her."

"I have no plans of forcing anything on her. I'm just going to… say a few things here and there and let her choose a plan that I'm sure is going to work."

Grace's face was blank again. "You think you'll be able to manipulate my sister? She's better trained than you and she knows both Occlumency and Legilimency."

"She's already said she won't use Legilimency on me. As for the training… let's just say that if Charlotte thinks she's come up with a master plan, I doubt she'll look too far into it."

Realization dawned in Grace's eyes. "I'm trusting you," she said, resigned. "Just know if this doesn't work, you'll have me to answer to."

"Oh trust me, I know. That's exactly why I'm going to make sure that this works."

* * *

_**Soon after, in the Slytherin common room…**_

When Harry re-entered the Slytherin common room after his session with Grace, he could feel the palpable emotion running through the air. It wasn't tense like the night that Grace had duelled Flint and Higgs, nor even like the night earlier this year when Flint himself had resigned as Quidditch Captain. The prominent emotion, as far as Harry could tell, was actually excitement.

It was muted and hesitant in many cases, but it was definitely present, and Harry was intensely curious as to what may have started the wave of positivity. "What have I missed?" he asked Blaise quietly as he slid into a seat beside him. He was the only other one of Harry's friends present who wasn't buried in homework. It was History that had the others preoccupied, and Blaise had always been very astute in that subject.

"See for yourself." He gestured to the noticeboard hung near the entrance. From across the room, Harry eyed the notice and he felt his interest spike. Despite himself, he quickly joined the ranks of those who were practically exuding excitement. Even if, in his case, it was mixed with no small amount of anxiousness.

Hogwarts would be hosting the first meeting of the newly reformed Duelling Club on the seventeenth of December.

As much as the prospect did make him mildly nervous, as there were few things he feared less than losing something like a duel in front of the student body, Harry couldn't help but grin.

This time, he was perfectly happy with the sudden shift away from normality.

He looked around once again, examining his group of friends this time, looking for their reactions to it. Most of them didn't show any. Charlotte was in this camp, but when Harry looked at her, his brow furrowed as he thought of exactly what she was probably thinking.

That wouldn't do.

It wouldn't be good enough.

Public humiliation via duel was too basic. It was too easy to retaliate to, but he was sure Charlotte was sat there, devising methods of embarrassing Mulciber and Jugson. There was also the issue of what happened if they just refused to duel her, or didn't show up at all.

No, sometime between now and the seventeenth of December, Harry would have to steer Charlotte away from that course of action, assuming he was right in guessing that was where her mind had gone. Along the way, he would plant a few seeds, too. Just to be safe.

* * *

_**November 18, 1992**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**7:30 PM**_

Draco stared pointedly at Ares, who had insistently dragged him off to speak in private. Ares regretted the fact that most of their major, private conversations this year had pertained to things that neither of them would exactly wish to be talking about. The two of them hadn't spoken much in the past month. Ares had been rather stressed. It seemed as if the Hogwarts workload was getting to her. Exhaustion seemed to be a constant factor she had to contend with as of late, and that was to say nothing about everything else going on inside the castle at that same moment.

Draco had seen his fair bit of stress as well. Of course, there had been the nightmare of an incident on Samhain. Then, the ruthless preparation for Slytherin's opening Quidditch match against Gryffindor. Ever since, Draco had been working slowly to gain back some of the dignity that he had immediately lost in the aftermath of his one-sided defeat to Potter. As of late, he looked pale, lost and exhausted. It was as if he didn't know who he was anymore or what to do, and it was taking all of his energy to try and find those answers.

It was for all of these reasons that Ares loathed the fact that now, their first real private conversation in ages would be held in light of delicate matters once more.

"I'd love to think you actually just arranged this to talk, but I doubt it," Draco said bluntly. Ares might have winced normally, but she felt annoyance creep up. Stressed or not, Draco shouldn't be snapping at her like that. Least of all when she was trying to help him. Trying to prevent a repeat of Samhain. That had been painful to watch.

"You're not the only one who wishes that, you know? It isn't my problem that I keep having to get involved to stop you from getting into disastrous situations."

Draco's cheeks flushed. "What do you think I've done this time?"

"You haven't done anything yet. That's not the point. I'm not worried about what you have done. I'm worried about what you might do, and what it might cause."

"I'm not going to go around calling people mudbloods in front of Potter if that's what you're worried about." Draco spoke that proclamation through teeth gritted so tightly together that Ares thought he might have been able to bite straight through metal.

"Thank Merlin and Morgana for that, but that's not actually what I was going to tell you. I sort of just assumed you weren't daft enough to make that mistake again. How you managed to screw that up after the warning he gave you in the changing rooms amazes me."

"So happy to be of service," Draco drawled, obviously not taking well to Ares's sharp jabs. That wasn't her problem. That was how she acted. Other people could take it or leave it. It wasn't her fault that over the years and in the last few months in particular, Ares's tongue had gotten sharper and sharper. She attributed the exponential increase in her ability to come up with quips to the fact that suddenly, her social circle was much larger than her parents, cousin, aunt and uncle.

"Yes, I'm glad you enjoy pleasing me. It's a great trait to have." Seeing that her cousin likely wouldn't take much more of this, Ares decided to cut to the chase. "I want to take back what I said about Potter earlier this year, especially with the duelling club coming up."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid you're going to do something stupid at the duelling club. Like force your way into a duel with him and fire some horrid curse before the command to start is given to try and win some of your shine back. Let me just warn you, Draco. That would be a terrible idea. You know I follow duelling, and Potter is good. As in, a prodigy for his age kind of good. I doubt you would stand a chance against him if you trained like a professional for months and he just sat around and waited."

"You're saying that I'm a lesser wizard than Potter?"

"I'm saying that having a rivalry with him would be a terrible idea. Especially at the duelling club. He will be expecting you to try something. I'm sure of it. Say whatever you want about him, but he is a true Slytherin from what I've seen. He'll be way ahead of you if you try something like that."

"For your information, I never had any intentions of trying to start drama with Potter at the duelling club. Father was… very firm in his warning this time around. More so than the last, even." Ares internally cringed for Draco. She had only seen her Uncle Lucius truly angry a handful of times, but he was a rather intimidating man when he was upset. She could also see how badly that instruction conflicted with what Draco wanted to do.

"You're going to listen to him this time."

Draco blinked. "Are you… giving me an order?"

"Yes, I am."

"On what authority?"

"Challenge me, cousin, and find out."

The two of them locked eyes and Ares could practically feel Draco's burning frustration and anger boiling beneath the surface. It was as if the boiling pit of emotions was producing fumes which Ares herself was breathing in. The imagined feelings were so vivid. It was the only way she could explain it.

"Every time you've gone after Potter, it has ended in disaster. It's over, Draco. You can't beat him. You've been told for years that you were better than everybody. It was the way you were raised. Until now, nobody has had the stones to tell you the truth. So I'm here to break it to you. Potter is too skilled. Both in setups and confrontations. Attacking him again would be suicide, and I would rather my cousin be upset with me again than have him utterly ruined over some stupid, petty grudge."

Their eyes were still locked onto each other when Ares saw his grey ones narrow. He made to say something and Ares growled, trying to shove every bit of her resoluteness and certainty as to her stance through her gaze. It was as if she was trying to convey everything through her stare alone. Draco flinched as if he had somehow received the message. In fact, he looked away, down towards the floor and when he next spoke, that was where his stare remained.

"Fine, I won't go after Potter. I'll… end it, no matter what he does. Are you happy now?"

Ares's smile was genuine as she reached across the table and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, trying to convey that she had only had his best interests at heart. Had she manipulated him into getting wound up just so that she could make him snap and open her up to make her own points? Absolutely. Did that take away from the satisfaction and relief she felt? Absolutely not.

In fact, she felt quite pleased. She supposed it was a rather skillfully played game on her part. She should be proud of it, after all.

"Perfectly happy," Ares responded without missing a beat, eyes gleaming.

* * *

_**November 22, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:36 AM**_

_Heir Potter,_

_I feel as if the relationship between us, as well as that which connects our two families has gotten off to a shaky and an unfortunate start, in part as a result of my son and heir's immature foolishness. I am sure if the two of us sat down, we could come to a sort of mutual agreement that could see a relationship blossom in the future. I, for one, am quite eager to see this relationship formed, and I think it to be in my son's best interests if I intervene and seek to cease the dangerous rivalry between the two of you by any means necessary._

_I am writing to inquire whether or not you might be agreeable to meeting me during the first week of the Yule break? Perhaps the first day after the children arrive back home_, _the 22nd of December._

_If this or another date works best for you, please write back swiftly._

_Regards, _

_Lucius Malfoy_

_Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy_

Harry bit his lip. That was certainly interesting. Potentially very dangerous, but interesting nonetheless. He had been in the presence of Lord Malfoy twice. Three times, he supposed, if one counted the Samhain gala from his first year, but they had barely interacted that night. Both other times, he'd remarked at how well the man played the game.

Harry wasn't sure whether the Lord of House Malfoy was stepping in as a means to form a genuine relationship, sparing his son from future, brutal retaliation, or a combination of the two.

Either way, it was something he needed to think about, and it was not a letter that should be responded to impulsively. Luckily, he had another matter which he would be writing to his solicitor about that very night. So fortunate that the Greengrass family had been gracious enough to acquire one's services for him. He needed her now, possibly for more than he had ever realized.

* * *

_**December 12, 1992**_

_**The Second Floor**_

_**12:47 AM**_

Fred and George Weasley peered back down at the Marauder's Map, double-checking that their eyes had not been playing tricks on them. This was about the twentieth time they had checked. They'd been following the irregularity for several floors now, and both of their hearts were threatening to beat straight out of their chests.

When there was a mystery and or chaos at Hogwarts, Fred and George Weasley wanted nothing more than to be at the centre of it. Specifically this one, for the timing was quite ideal.

They were still in hot water over their admittedly horrid prank on the Slytherin Quidditch team two and a half months ago. They had never been implicated with enough proof to actually punish them, but the teachers were still on high alert. Snape was still extra snappish in Potions, taking at least ten points from each of them every lesson. Their own Head of House, Professor McGonagall, wasn't much better. She watched them like a hawk every chance she got, and the two of them were privately more fearful of her than Snape

In short, the teachers were doing their best to monitor their every move. It was as if they were waiting for them to slip up and do something else equally stupid. Something that they would this time be able to pin on them.

At least, they were doing this when not otherwise occupied by this Chamber of Secrets nonsense, which was one of three reasons the twins had decided to get involved.

The first was that, if the two of them managed to turn in this self-proclaimed Heir of Slytherin, it would probably get the teachers to bugger off, and they could go back to pulling pranks as normal and actually enjoying their time at Hogwarts. The second tied into the first. Unlike most in the castle, the twins actually believed themselves capable of this. They were no narcissists. They didn't think themselves some magical titans or any such nonsense. But they had an advantage that nobody else in the castle had. Not even Albus Dumbledore, for all of his accolades and greatness.

That advantage was the Marauder's Map. With it, they could easily and efficiently track every single person in the castle. In theory, this would give them a massive leg up in discovering who truly was behind the attack of Mrs. Norris and the disappearance of their fellow Gryffindor, Colin Creevey. That could actually be a fourth reason they had gotten involved. It was bad enough before Creevey had seemingly been kidnapped. Then, he, a Gryffindor, had been dragged in. Gryffindors needed to protect their own, so…

But the true third reason led right back into the Marauder's Map. There was no Chamber of Secrets labelled on the map. This was no surprise to neither Fred nor George. If the Marauders had ever found it, the Chamber of Secrets would likely have been public knowledge. The twins had prided themselves on knowing more about the castle than anyone else, and that had been even before they had acquired the map which had helped them immeasurably in the past fourteen or so months. Knowing that a secret, hidden chamber full of potential could just be hiding under their noses was far too tempting.

The two of them would admit, they had been at it for weeks and made no progress.

Until tonight.

Whilst out killing time after curfew, the two of them had pulled out the map and scanned it. In the process of doing so, they'd noticed a dot which neither of them had ever seen before. And they would know, because over the past number of weeks, they had made note of every single living person in the castle just in case something like this happened. But they didn't recognize the new name, one that they had followed down onto the second floor.

Emily Riddle.

When they had first spotted the mysterious dot of Emily Riddle, George had reasoned that perhaps, they should go and fetch Dumbledore. Fred had disagreed. If this mysterious Emily Riddle knew things about the castle that even the Marauders hadn't and could seemingly sneak in and out at will, what were the odds she would still be around by the time they managed to summon the Headmaster?

George had to concede that Fred's logic was sound, so they had followed Emily Riddle for about five floors.

Which led them to an alcove on the second floor, vigorously checking the map one more time before the two of them made a move to end the supposed Heir of Slytherin's reign of terror over Hogwarts. When they made to verify for a final time, however, they found themselves in complete and utter shock.

Emily Riddle's name had vanished.

"Fuck!" Fred cursed, scanning the map frantically and trying to relocate her. "No, what the fuck! That's not possible! She was right there! In that bathroom, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," George muttered, scanning the map one more time himself, "you can't think of any way she could have known we were coming?"

"Homenum Revelio, but it still wouldn't explain how she erased her name."

"I was going to say that maybe she has some way of hiding from any form of detection and she enabled it when she noticed us coming?"

"Maybe, who knows? So… we wait then, for her to leave the bathroom?"

"I guess, yeah. Best to set up an ambush then, you reckon?"

"I do, yeah,"

As one, the twins stepped out from behind the suit of armour which had concealed them only seconds before.

They didn't make it far.

As they made to step back out into the hallway, both of their eyes caught movement off to the side, and they quickly turned to peer in the polished shield held by the suit of armour, hoping to see what was coming up behind them in a reflection.

Just like that, they saw no more, and as the two of them fell, the map which they had held only seconds earlier gently fluttered out of their grasp and fell, face down, into the alcove that they had just abandoned.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**This is where I start kicking canon in the dick in terms of the attacks if you can't already tell.**

**A quick note on the Peverell thing. The Potters have buried that connection for centuries for fairly obvious reasons. They are in no position to take up the Peverell's Wizengamot seat. Just thought I'd answer that before people had a chance to ask it.**

**In other news, the Ashes of Chaos audiobook is now on Spotify as a podcast! For those who want to give it a listen as it is recorded, you can give the podcast a follow! It is up on YouTube as well, so a free subscription would be very much appreciated! Thank you to CCCP from my Discord server for the narration. **

**It should be on Apple Music within the week!**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 24th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**

**A special thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Sesc for their contributions this week.**


	38. SS Ch 20:Deadly Drama Part II

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 20: Dangerous Duels and Deadly Drama Part II**

* * *

_**December 12, 1992**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**7:53 AM**_

Harry awoke bright and early five days before the Duelling Club's first meeting. This was a fairly typical occurrence, and as such, he went through a fairly typical routine. Wake up, shower, take his bags, and leave the common room. Sometimes, he left for his personalized training room in the dungeons. Other times, when he was feeling more academic, he headed for the library.

This morning was one of the latter occasions. It was roughly a quarter after six when he first arrived in the library. As he debated on which topic to read up on, his eyes idly flicked towards the Restricted Section. By now, both Calypso and Emily had verified the idea that magic commonly said to be dark was not inherently indicative of evil in and of itself. Harry was pretty sure this was the truth, but he wanted one more take to be sure. He would ask Grace soon; possibly tomorrow night

He just wanted one more opinion to be one-hundred percent sure before he dove into the topic. He was an obsessive person, and that was a fact about himself that he was well aware of. If he began to dive into the Dark Arts, he wouldn't be stopping until he had one day mastered them. If he was going to do that, he was going to be damn sure that the endeavour wasn't going to horribly backfire on him in the long run.

If it did indeed turn out that she too spoke the same ideas as Emily and Calypso, he would begin exploring the subject. At that point, he would need to find a way into the Restricted Section.

The pass from Voldemort in his first year hadn't carried over to his second. That tended to happen when the professor in question turned out to be a Dark Lady in disguise. Harry really should have made more use of that pass last year. He was certainly wishing he had it now, as the full potential of its usage made itself clear. Perhaps he would have Charlotte verify whether or not there were wards on the Restricted Section. If there weren't, he could always just sneak in at night with the help of Voldemort's ring and Blaise's enchanted shoes. The former would render him invisible. The latter would ensure no sound emanated from his footsteps.

Thinking on the senses, he mentally noted to look into a spell that could possibly mask his scent. Maybe a cleaning charm would be his only option… He could easily grab some reading material that may be helpful before he left this morning.

If there did turn out to be wards, which he suspected there were… that could be more problematic. He knew how to set some basic wards by now, but breaking them was still beyond him. It wasn't that he didn't have the capability of breaking them, even though that was likely true, at least for now. He just had no idea how one went about breaking wards. That could be solved though. The book Grace had let him take from the Weitts family library the previous year detailed ward-breaking, but he just hadn't looked into it yet. Thus far, it hadn't been something he'd needed to explore.

He spent about an hour reading in the library. By now, he had a strong enough grasp on a few of the basic runic languages to begin using them for actual Runes. He was looking for books specifically detailing Elder Futhark. He thought it would be a good place to start working with Runes, seeing as it was one of the most basic languages. He did find a few, but ended up reading mostly about Arithmancy. He didn't have many books on that topic, and though the books he found on runes did look promising, the ones on Arithmancy captivated him more at the moment.

Before leaving, he scooped up a number of useful looking books on charms. He hoped one of them might have something to help him mask his scent. If not, he would hopefully learn something of interest from them, and he could come back and try at a later date.

Or, he could just ask Emily.

That was also an option, he supposed, though he might have to explain why he wanted to know. He doubted Emily would judge him, but it was still a difficult thing for him to do; asking for help in potentially rule breaking matters.

Ugh! He needed to get this emotional suppression thing down. Being easily able to squash irrational hesitation was going to be extremely useful. Not to mention the fact that it alone would probably lower his general stress levels significantly.

It was around half-past seven by the time he'd wrapped up in the library. He thought that this morning, he would actually have time to meet his friends in the common room instead of just dropping into a spot near them at the Slytherin table, which was his usual practice. Along with just not going to breakfast at all. That was also a frequent occurrence, nowadays. He often became so engrossed in whatever he was doing, that the thought of breakfast didn't even occur to him. As he'd noted, he was an obsessive person.

It took Harry some time to reach the Slytherin common room. When he did, he noticed that at least one of his friends was awake and ready.

"What's the occasion?" Blaise asked, acting completely astounded. "I don't even remember the last time I saw you in the common room at this time."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I wrapped up early this morning. Thought I might grace you with my presence."

Blaise laughed. "You honour me, my lord."

"Have you figured out what you're doing over the Yule break?" Blaise had been saying for some time that he was unsure of his Yuletide plans. Last year, he, like most in Slytherin House, had opted to return home for Yule. This year, apparently his mother would be travelling with a new romantic interest. Number Seven, as Blaise referred to him. Blaise was either unsure whether he would be invited along, or unsure as to whether he was interested in joining them. He had yet to specify which of these was true, and Harry hadn't asked.

"I'll be staying at Hogwarts. I'm assuming I can expect you to grace me with your presence all break long?"

"For the most part. My father did offer for me to spend the break at Potter Manor. Apparently, Charlus had already told him he'd be staying at Hogwarts. I personally wasn't interested in the offer."

Blaise's eyes danced with amusement. "Shocking."

"Truly," Harry responded with an upward curve of his lips. "I'll be out for at least one day and one night, but you're stuck with me the rest of it."

Blaise looked surprised. "You're leaving the castle? I wasn't aware we could even do that outside of major events, and such. Not until third year when the village opened up to us, anyway."

"It's a privilege of heirs to Wizengamot houses." He hadn't been sure of that fact for quite some time. It had been what his father had said in his first-ever letter to Harry. For quite some time, Harry had wondered whether the fact had been true, or whether James was just bending the rules via his publicized, personal relationship with Dumbledore. But when inquiring about the fact with his solicitor through letters, she had also confirmed it to be true.

Blaise frowned. "I suppose me not being a British heir probably has something to do with it, but I'm surprised that it's never come up before. I would have thought Daphne would have called on that privilege by now."

Harry shrugged. "It's not exactly something that needs to be used very often. And I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. They don't exactly advertise it. I only know because it's how I got out to meet my father last year."

Blaise nodded. "So that's the daytime excursion?"

"It is."

"And the night…"

"The gala at Greengrass Manor on New Year's Eve."

"Ah, right. I might actually get invited to that, apparently. I usually don't, since the Zabinis never had much to do with England until mother decided to send me to Hogwarts. I was talking about it last night with Daphne though, and she seemed to think she was going to ask her parents to invite me and that I would get an invitation."

"Do you even want to come?"

"Beats sitting around and killing time." Blaise smirked. "And with you around, I doubt it will be a typically dull social event."

"What do you mean by that?"

Blaise waved a hand. "Come on, Harry. Surely you've figured this out by now. Some people in the world just can't catch a break. No matter what they do, trouble follows them." He grinned. "You, my friend, are most certainly one of those people."

"And honoured, I assure you," Harry answered dryly, causing Blaise to chuckle just as Tracey and Daphne made their way into the common room. Like Blaise, the two girls were quite surprised to see Harry there at all. After greetings and pleasantries had been exchanged and the group had decided against waiting for their younger friends, they made for the exit, intent on getting an early start on breakfast.

They never made it.

Apparently, the world was out to prove the point that Blaise had made not moments earlier.

Before they could reach the exit, the wall slid aside, revealing Pansy Parkinson, who appeared mildly short for breath. Her brown eyes scanned the common room at top speed, and Harry almost sighed out loud when they fixed upon him, and she began her approach with purpose.

Whatever this was, it wasn't good.

He could feel mild panic radiating from Pansy, thanks to what he now suspected to be a mild affinity towards Natural Legilimency. He didn't have much time to ponder that. Within mere seconds, Pansy was upon them, and she quickly focused her entire attention on Harry and began to speak.

"You might not want to go to breakfast."

Whatever he had been expecting, that hadn't been it. "Do I even want to know?" Harry looked anywhere but at Blaise as he asked his question. If he knew his friend as well as he thought he did, Blaise would have a terribly smug smirk on his face right about now.

"Probably not, but I'm going to tell you anyway," Pansy declared with finality.

"Naturally. Well, get it over with then."

"So, you know how the whole school thinks you're the Heir of Slytherin?" Harry nodded. "Well, now they're _really _going to think that you're the Heir of Slytherin. And… I don't know if it would be pleasant for you to be in public right now."

"What's happened?" Harry asked sharply, his focus suddenly becoming much more intense as his mind put together the general idea of what had evidently transpired.

There had been another attack, or perhaps a disappearance.

If Pansy's words were true, it would somehow make people even more certain that Harry was the one behind it.

"Two students have disappeared," she started, not seeming to be sure whether or not she should sound upbeat or worried.

"Two students?" Tracey asked, wide-eyed and incredulous.

Pansy nodded, looking significantly in Harry's direction before peeling the metaphorical bandage. "Yes, two students. The Weasley twins."

Oh… fuck!

Yup, that would do it alright.

The twins had never been proven guilty of the heinous prank on the Slytherin Quidditch team from two and a half months ago. That had hardly mattered. Naturally, the entire school was reasonably sure who had been behind it, even if the bastards were too clever to leave obvious evidence behind. Personally, Harry thought the two of them disappearing was rather poetic. Karma really was a special sort of bitch. He didn't wish death upon the twins, per se, even if he would hardly mourn the twats. More accurately, he wished for them to suffer quite a lot of pain, and maybe several nights in a hospital bed.

So in some ways, he thought they deserved whatever was happening right about now, so long as it didn't result in the end of their lives.

On the other hand… Harry could see how this would further the school's suspicion of him. He also could not help but think of how convenient this whole thing was. The entire school suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin. Then, two people who everyone naturally, and accurately, assumed were on his shit list vanished in the middle of the night.

Oh, and they were Gryffindors, so even those that didn't think he was responsible would be even more sure that the culprit came from Slytherin House. Of course, most would naturally think this anyway, based on the mysterious assailent's chosen title. Whether that fact was true or not, it certainly wasn't a good look for Slytherin.

And here Harry thought he had been making progress in making a dent in that reputation. What with him being the Potter Heir and a noted child prodigy.

Maybe that would be a goal of his going forward. As soon as he made it through this mess without getting killed in cold blood by some furious lion, or falsely expelled for a crime he didn't commit.

Why was it so hard to just stay out of everything?

"Harry?" Daphne's voice brought him out of his thoughts and back to the present. All four of his closest friends were staring at him.

"Yeah, sorry about that. What did you ask?"

"I asked what you were going to do about this. The Gryffindors are going to be livid! I wouldn't be surprised if you were mobbed in the corridors."

Yes, that would be a problem. Even if he wasn't, he didn't fancy dodging curses all day. So far, it had been mild jinxes, for the most part, but he suspected this would escalate things. He had no idea what unsavoury curses the lions might know, but he wasn't intent on finding out.

There was also Gilderoy Lockhart to contend with.

The man had been on his case already, and this certainly wasn't about to help matters. He was far more worried about Lockhart than any Gryffindor, and he still had no idea whether the man knew Legilimency.

Worse still, he wasn't confident enough in his abilities to keep Lockhart out of his mind if he did. If Lockhart did know Legilimency and was ever going to try to use it on Harry, today would be the day. He wouldn't find anything on the Chamber of Secrets, but he may well find something else. Even something as simple as which books Harry kept could prove to be problematic.

Beyond all of the pragmatic reasons for avoiding confrontations, Harry really just couldn't be bothered at the moment. Years with the Dursleys had conditioned him to accept being ostracized, even hated. He wasn't exactly going to curl up and cry because nobody liked him, largely thanks to the Dursleys. At the same time, and even more so after experiencing true friendship, being universally hated was exhausting. Not to mention it surfaced many memories he would rather forget.

No, Harry really couldn't be bothered to deal with the school.

"You guys go on ahead," he said with a sigh. "I have things I need to take care of, anyway. I… might be a bit hard to find for a while." Blaise, Daphne and Tracey all seemed to understand what he meant.

He was retreating to the Speaker's Den, where he was quite confident none would be able to find him.

* * *

_**That night, in an abandoned classroom...**_

Charlus was furious. Charlus had been furious all day. Worse still, he had been forced to ruthlessly contain his fury for the better part of the day. By the time he'd returned to the common room after breakfast, the morbid news was already spreading throughout the school.

The Weasley twins had vanished.

The rest of the day had been one of the worst Charlus could remember. Ron had gone up to the dorms and not returned and Charlus could hardly blame him. He sat with Hermione and valiantly tried to not utterly lose his shit. There had been numerous moments throughout the day in which Charlus started to shake with pent up emotion.

After dinner, he had taken the opportunity to slip away from his muggleborn friend and enter the abandoned classroom in which he had set up the dummies sent to him by Mr. Bellona all those months ago. With the dummies had come several ward stones and some very specific instructions on how to set up some very specific wards.

With all of that, Charlus had himself a personal training facility.

But right now, it was more of a therapeutic canvas on which he could paint out all of his emotions and fury.

Today, Charlus hadn't needed to conjure up any feeling of hatred or anger to cast some of the darker curses he'd been taught. Hatred and fury came to him very easily.

Yet the focus had not changed.

His utter bastard of a brother!

Charlus hadn't wanted to believe that Harry could possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. There was nothing more painful than the possibility that Harry could be behind the horrible things happening this year at Hogwarts. Yet this set of disappearances had confirmed it. This time, it had been personal.

He had no idea what the cat had done to Harry, but he suspected it had been a display, of sorts. That's what Hermione had said, at least. It was how she had explained why Mrs. Norris had been petrified and the other victims had simply vanished. The first attack was a warning. The rest were to further whatever twisted goal the Heir of Slytherin had in mind.

And Charlus couldn't stand it any longer.

As the pure, unadulterated hatred and fury built up inside him, he thrust his wand towards the dummies once more, letting out an animalistic cry of rage as he let his magic flow free and obliterate the target.

The duelling club was drawing near. He would show Harry there, in front of the entire school, the repercussions for his actions.

He swore it to himself.

* * *

_**An hour later, in the Speaker's Den…**_

Harry had spent most of the day locked up in the Speaker's Den. He had been very careful to ensure that Grace was nowhere in his vicinity as he had approached. He had been equally cautious to make sure his ring was actively concealing him. As he entered, he also reset the password. Now, instead of a simple yet personal phrase, it was protected by a Parseltongue password. This way, there was no threat of intruders, even if Grace managed to somehow work out the wards surrounding the place.

If she ever just came out and bluntly asked him about it, he wasn't sure how he might respond. He trusted Grace, that wasn't the problem. The problem was _anybody_ being able to intrude on him at any time. This was his sanctuary, and that would no longer be true by definition if someone else could gain unfettered access to the hidden room.

After entering, Harry had allowed a rather content looking smile as his eyes roamed hungrily over the place. He had, for the most part, avoided this room since his return to Hogwarts more than three months ago. As soon as Grace had given him an indication that she might know more than he was comfortable with, Harry lost any and all interest in taking chances. Because of this, the room looked more appealing now than ever before. He even managed to forget the stress of his situation, and the danger he was now in as a result of another's actions, if only for a moment.

There was a part of him, a larger one than he would care to admit, that wanted to investigate. He assumed this was his Gryffindor streak. Given his family history, it was inevitable he would have one in some capacity. This part of him was screaming that the Heir of Slytherin had now blatantly framed him. It was screaming about how this was as good a reason as any to take retribution.

Thankfully, the part of him that had ensured he was sorted into Slytherin House was larger, and just as persistent. It ruthlessly crushed these bold claims with cold, hard logic.

He'd intervened last year, and that had landed him back at the Dursleys. It might have been temporary, but he was still on the outs with his family.

Oh, and the whole issue that he almost died as a result of said intervention. Well, he supposed if she was to be believed, Voldemort had never had any intention of killing him. Whether that was true or not, he had absolutely no idea.

Thinking of that conversation, he remembered the prophecy that Voldemort had mentioned. The same prophecy that, days later, Dumbledore had avoided talking about as if it were a taboo. This wasn't the first time the thought of the mysterious prophecy had crossed his mind. He would be lying if he didn't admit to being curious. Voldemort seemed to believe it was fulfilled. Apparently, it spoke of a child with the power to vanquish her.

On that front, she had a point. She had indeed been vanquished. Her logic was sound. But the fact that Dumbledore had refused to even mention the prophecy when Harry had led him straight to it in their conversation was… troubling. Even if it only pertained directly to Charlus, there was a good chance that Harry would end up as collateral damage one way or the other.

As Blaise put it, he really couldn't catch a break.

He had pondered on the prophecy for some time, but when his mind had finally returned onto the issue of how it had gotten there, he sighed. Avoiding all this drama was really his best course of action. It was possible the heir had framed him, but Harry could hardly blame them. He doubted it was personal. He wasn't really important enough in the grand scheme of things for it to be. He was just the most natural candidate to take the fall. He didn't like it, but it was hardly a good enough reason for him to risk his life in retribution.

These thoughts had grown rather depressing. Thinking in circles tended to be. He decided to take the opportunity to both distract his mind and to be productive. Standing to his feet, Harry made his way towards the bookshelves lining the main room of the Den.

It was tradition for anybody who found the Speaker's Den to leave a book behind before they graduated Hogwarts. That was what Harry had managed to put together, at least. There were a great number of tomes on a wide variety of topics . Last year, he hadn't really dipped his feet into these shark-infested waters. Partially because most of the material was beyond him, and also because he had been focused heavily on his studies.

While the latter was still true, he thought that if there was any time to give himself a break, it was now. He was still going to look for something academic and practical. But he thought a break from things like schoolwork and working ahead in schoolwork, as well as from his studies in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy could be good for him.

For a long time, Harry was lost in manifestos of old. They were written in old English, hence the distinction. Some of them appeared to be from time periods close to the one that William Shakespeare had lived in. At least, the language used was very similar. Some were older. Some were very difficult for Harry to comprehend, but he mostly managed.

There were certain phrases in these manifestoes that stood out to him vividly. Some he had read before. The first, for example, was one he had read here last year in a different tome and taken to heart. Obviously, it wasn't a unique phrase, but he thought it very true nonetheless.

_Proper preparation prevents poor performance. _

The second certainly wasn't one he'd read whilst in here. It was a phrase he had read in the first book he'd taken from the Restricted Section. The book that Lady Voldemort herself had urged him to take out.

_There is no such thing as light and dark, or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded._

One made him pause, for it was rather reflective of his current struggles to master the emotional control granted by the first Occlumency subskill he had ever attempted to learn.

_Emotion is the bane of cunning. It is the silent destroyer of ambition, for it does not strike loudly and harshly as the emotion may appear, but stealthily and from the shadows. It is a long, drawn-out death, one that the victim may never see coming._

It was perhaps a bit morbid, but it was a terrifying reality check nonetheless.

He had to master that subskill.

With that in mind, Harry spent an age combing the shelves for anything useful. It wasn't exactly easy to search out specific topics. Especially not when many of the books were represented by blank, discreet covers. Many others were simply notebooks and not proper books at all.

Harry picked up one of the newer entries, or so it seemed. It was still pristine. A bit dusty, but in perfect condition otherwise. He had avoided newer material for the most part thus far. Occlumency just seemed like an ancient art. But desperate times called for desperate measures. It wasn't that Emily couldn't help him. She was helping him a great deal, but he would take every advantage he could get.

This was his philosophy as he opened the book and looked down…

And froze.

The pristinely perfect handwriting was all too familiar. It was the same handwriting he saw every time a message was sent to him in the enchanted journal.

It was Emily Riddle's handwriting; he was sure of it.

What was just as shocking was the book's contents.

To call it a book wasn't really accurate. It was a journal; a notebook. One which seemed to be dedicated to the Mind Arts. Skimming through the book itself, he noticed that there was more written about Occlumency than there was Legilimency. But there was certainly plenty about the latter as well.

Now, this… this could be a game-changer.

It was one thing to write Emily and ask her questions. It was another thing altogether to actually see not only her methods, but her in-depth philosophies and thought processes in regards to Occlumency written out in vivid detail right in front of him.

Yes, this was going to be a game-changer indeed.

Hardly believing his luck, but supposing the world had decided he needed a break at long last, Harry picked up the book and began to read.

Though it would later baffle him how such a thing was possible, by the time the duelling club met five days later, he would already have the subskill that had given him such problems for the better part of a month and a half somewhat mastered.

* * *

_**December 16, 1992**_

_**The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom**_

_**2:29 PM**_

Charlotte had never been asked to stay behind after class by a professor before. Which was why, on Thursday- the day before the Duelling Club was set to meet- she found herself rather perplexed when Professor Lockhart asked her to stay behind.

"Did I do something wrong, Professor?"

The man waved a hand dismissively in a fairly casual motion, but Charlotte had the distinct impression the man was oddly nervous. "No, no, of course not. Your work was exemplary as always, Miss Weitts."

Charlotte smiled. "Thank you, sir."

Lockhart waved his hand again. "Your work isn't even bordering on an issue, Miss Weitts. I actually had a… favour to ask you."

Charlotte suddenly felt her guard raise. "A favour, sir?"

"Nothing of great importance or risk, I assure you." He was definitely nervous. He'd answered that almost… hastily. "I was wondering if you could pass along a message for me."

Charlotte pursed her lips. "That depends on the message, sir. And who you'd like me to pass it along to."

"Yes, yes, of course." It appeared to Charlotte as if Lockhart was willing himself to speak his next words with a great deal of effort. "I heard through the grapevine that your Grandfather is going to be in England over the holidays."

Charlotte had to resist the urge to take in a breath or widen her eyes. "He is," she answered neutrally.

"Then I would like you to pass on a message, Miss Weitts. I would have liked to tell him myself, but I've heard that Giaus Weitts doesn't exactly take audiences these days. It… would mean a lot to me if you could pass this along."

"What's the message, Professor?"

"Tell him… tell him thank you from me, will you? Thank him on my behalf for what he has done for my family. And, in particular, thank him for the last conversation we had. That conversation doubtlessly saved my life. I doubt I would be standing here today if I hadn't spoken to him all those years ago. He's a great man, your Grandfather. Tell him that for me, would you? And do pay him my respect."

Charlotte nodded, a pensive expression firmly in place. "I'll tell him for you, sir."

* * *

_**December 17, 1992**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**6:40 PM**_

At long last, the night had come that many in the ancient castle had been awaiting for the past month.

Tonight, the newly reformed Hogwarts Duelling Club would meet for the first time.

Harry wasn't quite as excited as he had been the first night it had been revealed. Calypso had put it best. They duelled every week, this really wasn't anything special. What he was excited for was to see how he compared to other students. In particular, those who were his senior, but perhaps not necessarily avid duellists. While his friends all seemed to be in varying states of eagerness,none of them were truly duellists. Granted, Charlotte had wanted to learn combat magic. She still did, but the two of them had decided it would be best to start that project soon after the fast-approaching holidays.

Out of Harry's gathered friends, she was by far the one who looked most eager. Sinister, as well. Something Harry didn't like seeing at the moment. It meant, in his estimation, that she was going to lead with the exact plan which would lead to disaster. A disaster that he would have to subvert before it happened.

As the group of them made to leave the common room, he placed a hand on Charlotte's arm, stalling her exit. This surprised her greatly, which Harry really should have seen coming. It wasn't exactly kept a secret how much he detested most forms of physical contact.

But ever since he'd learned emotional manipulation and control in the last few days, he'd found that his distaste could be suppressed. When he'd first written Emily to explain that he had learned the subskill, she had been equal parts baffled, impressed, and amazed.

* * *

_**The night previous, in the Slytherin dorms…**_

Harry eagerly opened the journal and put his quill to the parchment. He had finally done it, and the accomplishment came with more pride than any before it which he could remember.

_Emily,_

_I've mastered emotional suppression and manipulation!_

_Well, maybe not mastered, but I can do it! I'm not sure if I would be able to pull it off in a high-pressure situation yet, but I'm sure that will come with practice and mental memory, like a lot of other things seem to._

The pause before the inevitable response was actually shorter than what Harry was accustomed to.

_Have you now? That is… intriguing. The last time we talked, you did not seem to be any closer to that objective, and that discussion was fairly recent. May I ask what led to this… breakthrough before I discuss some necessary things for you to be aware of?_

Harry bit his lower lip. Could he tell her? He had no idea how she would react to the news that he had found the writings of her teenage self. More important, how she would react to him finding the Speaker's Den. It would likely give away that he was a Parselmouth, too. He wasn't sure if the Den could even be found by those who didn't speak the magical language. Possibly, but certainly not by a second year, no matter how far ahead in their coursework they might be. She would know immediately that he, like her, spoke the language of Slytherin.

That could be… problematic.

He trusted her, but not that much. He hadn't even told Blaise, Daphne or Tracey about that ability yet. He couldn't say he had any plans to do so soon, either. Perhaps if it was somehow necessary to solve a problem in the future, he would consider it. Aside from that, he was perfectly content with keeping an ability private that would more than likely lead to him being ostracized more than he already was.

Especially in the current climate, with a supposed Heir of Slytherin running roughshod through the corridors.

If said culprit really was the Heir of Slytherin, that would be one way for Harry to draw their attention. Even if their frame job hadn't been personal, he imagined that, if he revealed himself as a Parselmouth, he would rise straight to the top of their interest list. It wouldn't matter what colour his robes were, or how pure his blood was.

No, best not to tell his friends. By extension, he didn't think telling Emily would be wise either. Unfortunately, he knew that whatever he was about to write would be a weak explanation. It probably wouldn't be sufficient enough to fool her. Hopefully, she would just be polite enough not to ask further.

_I'm not actually sure. I just sat down after class for the last few nights and pretty much spent all night working on it. I skived off most of my other obligations and eventually, it just clicked._

Even to him, it sounded weak. If that was the case, why had it taken him so long to do that? What changed so suddenly that allowed this to become possible? These were just some of the questions Emily could potentially ask him. Questions that he realistically had no answers for. To put it lightly, there were a myriad of issues surrounding his cover story. He hoped it would be sufficient. As long as she chose not to press him on it, the moment should pass. Emily seemed curious in general, but prying wasn't her forte, from what Harry had observed.

Thankfully, Emily allowed the moment to pass.

_A bit unusual it would suddenly click so swiftly, but I am happy for you nonetheless. Now, I need to warn you about some of the risks associated with these abilities. The suppression of emotion in particular._

Harry frowned, but swiftly wrote back to signify he was paying close attention.

_Emotional suppression is a wonderfully powerful thing. Unfortunately, like most other things of a similar nature, it has its fair share of dangers. By example, one can permanently suppress any given emotion. For example, you could suppress your empathy for the rest of your life. I take it I don't need to explain all of the potential problems that could cause? Not just in terms of empathy, but with emotions in general?_

Yes, he could see why that could be problematic.

_The most dangerous thing about this is that it isn't always a conscious decision. Sometimes, in situations of great stress, an Occlumens, new Occlumens in particular, ends up doing so subconsciously. So, what I am telling you is that, in order to avoid that mishap, make sure to internalize very deeply after any experience that is particularly traumatic. If you find out that you have unintentionally suppressed an emotion permanently, or you think you have, write to me immediately._

Harry never failed to be amazed at just how powerful Occlumency truly was.

_The other issue is less dramatic, but still of note. _

_When suppressing particularly strong emotions, again, usually after moments of intense stress or trauma, if they are suppressed for too long- days on end, for example- the emotions tend to build. This doesn't happen on most occasions. The suppressed emotion has to be particularly strong for this to occur, but when it does build, you will eventually have to cease suppressing it and the outpouring is… unpleasant. It is the raw emotion magnified several times, and it often causes breakdowns in those who suffer it._

Harry winced. That was definitely something to note. It was exactly the kind of thing he could wind up doing.

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

But there was no risk to suppressing things as minor as this. It was still something he had to consciously do, but it was nice to not reflexively tense every time somebody came too close to him, even if he still wasn't fond of contact as a whole. That was something he really wouldn't mind suppressing permanently, but he had no idea what kind of adverse effects it would have. It wasn't something he'd considered for more than a few, fleeting seconds.

Once Charlotte got over her surprise, she raised a brow. Harry projected what he wanted outwards and dropped his hand from her arm as she nodded curtly.

Minutes later, the two of them were locked in an abandoned classroom as most of the school surged towards the Great Hall, the room in which the night's affairs were set to take place.

"What is it?" Charlotte asked him, obviously in a hurry to join the rest of the school.

"I know what you're planning," Harry told her bluntly.

She just looked annoyed. "I'm sure you probably do. I don't see what it has to do with anything though."

"It will fail."

Charlotte blinked. "What?"

"If you attack Mulciber and Jugson openly, you're going to make even more enemies linked to the Conservatives. They will retaliate because unlike Malfoy, I don't think public humiliation is going to be a strong motivator for either one of them. And when they do, they're going to have more support than ever if you do this so publicly."

Harry could practically see the gears turning inside Charlotte's head. Eventually, she scowled. "I really hate it when you're right sometimes."

Harry's lips twitched. "Don't fight with emotion, Charlotte. Emotion is the bane of cunning and the silent destroyer of ambition."

Charlotte scowled. "How would you do it then?"

"It's your fight." If he suggested a plan of action, she would never take it. It would feel to her as if he had helped too directly. Her pride would never allow it. "But generally, revenge isn't something that should be broad. What works against one person might not work against another. It's like I said, public humiliation was something that I knew would work against Malfoy. It's something I doubt will work against the two you're after, Mulciber in particular.

"Revenge is pointless if the person you act against can come back for their own. If you really want to make them pay for it, you'll have to figure out something that will work specifically for them. Something that would change their outlook entirely. Something that, once you did it, would ensure that they never tried to take revenge on you again."

Harry saw her eyes light up, and he knew he had succeeded in getting his point across. Also that he had managed to plant the seed while simultaneously leading Charlotte to believe it was her idea.

All in all, a success.

"And now that I know you're not going to do anything stupid, let's get to the Great Hall."

* * *

_**Minutes later, in the Great Hall…**_

The uproarious chatter that permeated the air in the Great Hall was such that as Harry entered the vast room with Charlotte at his side, he was forcefully reminded of the atmosphere from the sorting ceremony. That was naturally a rather tense event, and it was, on paper, the most important event held at Hogwarts each and every year. All of that made it more than a little bit impressive to say that the atmosphere currently in the room was equally as tense and excited as anyone could ever remember.

When Harry and Charlotte took their spots among their group of friends, Daphne directed a curious glance in the pair's direction. Harry shrugged, hopefully indicating it wasn't important. Daphne's eyes narrowed. Harry supposed that by now, she probably realized he didn't do things in halves or for no reason. Almost anything that happened around him was of significant magnitude, whether he wanted it to be or not.

He also couldn't help but notice that his friends closed ranks around him once he joined them. Cassius, Calypso and the Carrows were with them as well. They served as a sort of perimeter around the younger students.

Pansy had been right to assume that the disappearance of the Weasley twins would turn the school more firmly against him. He made no public appearances until Monday. Grace's friend, Rhea, who had seen him in the common room was helpful enough to inform him of the location of the kitchens and how to enter them. That allowed him to avoid public meal times, and for the rest of the weekend, he had been locked up, studying Emily's notes in the Speaker's Den.

When he had been forced to return to the public eye on Monday, it had been a less than pleasant experience.

Before, he'd been hit in the back several times a day by minor jinxes and the like. More recently, he had been cursed quite vitally in the back several times, attacked more than that, and even challenged to several duels. After the first two days, Bletchley and Calypso had put their feet down and ever since, Harry had been escorted everywhere by either a member of the Quidditch team, the Carrows, or Calypso herself. Harry had cringed for the two poor idiots from Gryffindor who had tried cursing him when Calypso had been his escort. They hadn't left the hospital wing for more than a day.

It was her presence, Harry assumed, that discouraged many of his hateful onlookers from cursing him right in the middle of the hall. Harry was unperturbed. Well, that wasn't true. He was naturally wary of the situation, but he controlled that emotion with Occlumency. Not suppressed it, just muted it, lessened it. He managed to portray the perfect visage of calm as he surveyed the slightly redecorated Great Hall.

All of the long tables had been pushed along the far wall and in their place, the hall's centre was now dominated by a rather ostentatious looking golden stage. Only adding to the over-the-top nature of the entire setup was the absurd number of floating candles which lit the area. There had to be thousands of them! The stage might as well have sat in a pool of sunlight for how bright it was.

Peeling his eyes away from the spectacle, Harry turned towards his second-year friends. "Any idea who's running this?"

"Flitwick, maybe?" Daphne proposed. "He was a European Champion in duelling."

"Definitely not Flitwick then," Blaise disagreed. "That would make far too much sense."

Harry's lips twitched upwards, but he resisted the impulse to laugh. That was another thing that had become far easier with this subskill of Occlumency. Controlling his facial features was now completely trivial, with the exception of major shocks and the like.

"I heard," Pansy started, lowering her voice to a whisper, "that it would be-"

Before she could finish, the answer became obvious.

Gilderoy Lockhart was strolling onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum. The absurd amount of light cast down upon him by the luminous candles seemed to reflect blindingly off of his teeth, creating a blur, somewhat marring the otherwise perfect image. In stark juxtaposition to Lockhart, Snape strode up wearing his usual black. Lockhart smiled brightly at all of the students as he waved merrily. Snape, in contrast, just looked bored.

"Can you all see me?" Lockhart asked needlessly. Harry could have snorted aloud. If anyone couldn't see him, they seriously needed an urgent check-up with Madam Pomfrey. When Lockhart had been assured they could all see and hear him, without the need of a Sonorus or other such amplification, he faced the hall, basking in the many stares fixed upon him.

Harry wondered whether his act at the beginning of the year hadn't been more. He had no delusions that Lockhart had lied. He was certain the man had told the truth in the fact that the act had been a test, a diversion. Yet still, the way he seemed to revel in the attention made Harry wonder if that persona he had adopted might have been built on very real components of the man's true character. Perhaps components he otherwise had to keep muted.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works." He winked and flashed all of them a charismatic smile. This was typical of him. Even in their classes, for however competent he might be, he certainly did have a flair for the dramatics. Sometimes, Harry wondered exactly which parts of Lockhart were real and which were fake.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape." Snape gave a curt nod, but no more than that. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself, and has agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin."

At this, Harry's eyes narrowed. Whatever anybody wanted to say about either Snape or Lockhart, nobody could downplay either man's ability. Both of them were extremely skilled wizards, and presumably very proficient in duelling. Harry was quite interested to see how this would play out.

His hopes weren't unrealistically high. More than likely, they would show a quick, choreographed demonstration and be done with it. But what he wouldn't give to see those two go all out in a duel. He would be extremely curious to see how that duel would unfold. He also thought he would be mildly hopeful that Snape might finish Lockhart off. He'd caught the man following him several times this week- thanks to his ring- and he was getting more than a little bit tired of the man's unwarranted, borderline obsessive suspicion.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably.

Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them, and Lockhart gave all of them a borderline Binns-esquel lecture on duelling etiquette. In fairness, Harry had not been aware of any of it. While he had been looking into more practical forms of combat, until now, he hadn't even really known the rules of duelling. Really, he still didn't. According to Lockhart, the rules varied based on factors like location, age, and level of competition.

Finally, Lockhart triggered some sort of magic which caused the duelling wards around the stage to start a silent countdown. Seconds later, a resounding, ancient-sounding gong rang out through the hall. Harry felt as if he had gone back in time and was about to witness not a duel between wizards in Britain, but a battle between gladiators in the famed Roman Colosseum.

"Expelliarmus!"

The bright bolt of crimson magic rocketed from Snape's wand at a ludicrous speed. Harry would bet his heirship that Snape had cast using Supplementary Occlumency.

Despite the speed he was facing, Lockhart appeared unfazed. In fact, Harry's eyes widened at his next move. He didn't try to dodge the spell at all. He leapt towards it, deflecting it at the last second. That was insanity! Lockhart had been in mid-air, in mid-lunge, and had still managed enough precision to deflect Snape's own spell back at him.

That was skill.

Not only did he deflect Snape's spell, but he sent a volley of four spells of his own towards Snape, all in quick succession and all before his feet hit the ground. Snape shielded, allowing the protection to absorb all spells without issue.

"Bombarda!"

Lockhart was charging towards Snape at a sprint as he cast. Harry recognized the strategy. Voldemort had gone over it with him last year. It was standard procedure when you were facing an opponent who you knew to be more powerful than yourself. If you closed the distance and made it a chaotic, short-range battle where both parties were forced to trade spells in quick succession, the more powerful party would lose any opportunity to make the duel more complex.

Lockhart was obviously trying to do that now. He clearly anticipated Snape to dodge right, his left, for he actually leapt to that side, intent on intercepting him. To his dismay, Snape didn't follow his script.

With a quick twist, he conjured a brick wall in place of his shield to absorb Lockhart's Blasting Curse. It was blown to pieces and large bricks did fly towards Snape, but none of them touched him. Harry recognized how; the Vestamenterum shield, the same blunt force shield Lockhart had taught them at the beginning of the year.

How ironic that Snape had turned it against him.

With a flourish, Snape banished the debris towards Lockhart, who looked surprised for about a second before he waved his own wand dramatically. Suddenly, the debris was no more. In its place was a furious flock of ravens, which streaked towards Snape with murderous intent.

"Ignam Sagita!"

Flaming arrows appeared from nowhere, shooting straight outwards from where Snape stood, efficiently slicing straight through Lockhart's conjured birds and soaring towards the man himself. They were coming from both sides. Lockhart wouldn't be able to dodge in time.

"Aguamenti Proteger!"

A dome of water rose around him, seeming to surge with the power of an ocean as the arrows neared it. Despite their numbers, all of them were harmlessly absorbed by the shield, though it did dispel a fair amount of steam into the air.

Contrary to looking annoyed, Snape looked victorious. With a wave of his wand, the water solidified and hardened until Lockhart was encased in a dome of rock.

Or, so they all thought.

There was a shimmer behind Snape, and Harry's eyes sharpened. Lockhart must have stepped out of his water-based shield before it could be transfigured and made himself invisible without the need of magical artifacts. Harry was sure Snape would fall, but the man tensed seconds before Lockhart released his next volley of spells. He reacted just in time, in fact.

"Protego Orbis!"

Harry assumed it was only through Legilimency of some kind that Snape knew Lockhart was behind him. He still thought for a moment that he would fall, for Harry hadn't known that conjuring shields to completely encompass you from all sides was possible. That was something he would have to look into.

As it was, Snape's hastily conjured dome of magical protection kept him unharmed and with a brief, mutual glance, the two professors decided to call their duel a draw. It had been more than adequate in terms of a demonstration, and Harry suspected that it had escalated further than either of them had planned for.

Their display had been indicative of the tone Lockhart wanted to set, and he'd succeeded.

Most everyone in the crowd was awed.

"Well," Lockhart said with gusto, "that was suitably exhilarating!" Snape sneered. "My apologies, folks. That got a bit more out of hand than I'm sure either myself or Professor Snape expected. Nevertheless, I hope it was informative."

Many of the students nodded, and Harry mentally added his agreement. It had been very informative.

"Dramatic as that may have been, we started well. An excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape. We shall start with the Disarming Charm, shall we?"

For the next ten or so minutes, the whole hall went through the motions of learning the Disarming Charm. Once that had concluded, Lockhart showed all of them the basic Aegis Vocar shield. After he was satisfied with their progress, he decided to pair all of them off. As Harry eyed all of his friends, he knew all too well they wouldn't be sticking to disarming and shielding.

They would be sparring, no doubt about it.

The same could be said for most of the hall, he imagined. The older students ,in particular, looked suitably bored now that the fireworks had long since concluded. Lockhart must have noticed this. Before all hell could inevitably break loose, he assured them that the next exercise would be organized sparring, so long as they could get through this one with no mishaps.

And so, they did.

Fifteen minutes later, Lockhart summoned all of them to stand in a large group before the stage. "As I promised," he said proudly, "we'll move onto sparring, next." He smiled broadly. "But I couldn't just let you duel your friend, could I?" An uneasy tension suddenly filled the room. "The point is to defend yourself. Particularly in light of our recent and… troubling circumstances. Now, in pairs!"

Lockhart and Snape began pairing all of them up. They would duel their partners at least once and then switch opponents. Harry was paired with a third-year Slytherin girl who had brown hair and hazel eyes. Her name was apparently Isabelle Caneiro. She was, according to Snape, one of the better Charms students in her year.

In other words, this was going to be interesting.

"When the gong sounds," Lockhart said loudly once everybody had taken the appropriate stances opposite their designated partners, "the duels shall all commence!" Ringing silence filled the hall.

And then…

The gong sounded, and hundreds of spells fired at once.

Harry traded spells with Caneiro for about fifteen seconds before he realized that she was hopelessly outmatched. Her wand movements were fast and precise, and her spell casting was fluid and technically perfect, but she lacked experience in duelling, and it showed.

Ten or so seconds later, Harry had forced her to commit to an overly long, not-so-well-thought-out chain of spells. Exactly two seconds after she cast, he'd sidestepped and batted her final spell right back towards her. She had been so surprised that she'd barely managed to dodge and when she had, it put her right in the path of his next stunner, and she saw no more.

Once he revived a rather cross, but somewhat awed-looking opponent, Harry observed the other duels going on around him.

Some of the outcomes were surprising.

Blaise had duelled Nott, but it apparently hadn't gone well for Harry's friend, who was urgently nursing a bleeding right arm. Tracey and Pansy were still duelling. Tracey's wandwork was better than Pansy's, but the latter knew more useful spells in a duel and neither of them had experience. Charlotte had, to Harry's great intrigue, been paired up with Malfoy. Evidently, the first year had prevailed. Malfoy was lying bound and wandless at her feet.

The duel that was most interesting and surprising to Harry was Daphne's. She was duelling Ares Black. To Harry's extreme surprise, the duel wasn't going well for Daphne. It wasn't that Ares was talented, she was a Black and doubtlessly knew more questionable magic than most of the students from the first three years long before she had ever arrived at Hogwarts. But she was also a year younger than Daphne, who was one of the very best students in Harry's year. Not a duellist, but still…

The duel was still ongoing but by this point, it was clear that Ares was humouring her. Finally, a rapidly cast chain of spells burst through Daphne's Aegis Vocar shield and she was disarmed and knocked back to the floor. A minute or so later, Lockhart called for a pause and looked mildly troubled.

"That will do, that will do! Impressive displays from many of you but others took it… a bit further than we would have liked. This is sparring, my dear friends, not a championship tournament. I think we will duel differently in light of that… lack of restraint. Perhaps two students from each year at a time, up here on the stage. Let us start with the first years, shall we?"

A Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff first year duelled very sloppily. The duel lasted all of forty seconds before the Ravenclaw girl with platinum blonde hair and odd, silvery eyes was declared the victor.

Then, the second years were up.

"Potter!" Snape called at once, not even bothering to scan the crowd. When both Harry and Charlus looked towards him, he scrunched up his face. "Competent Potter," he specified in a silky tone. Many in the hall from all years and houses not present in Harry's potions classes laughed at the distinction as Harry ascended the steps up to the stage.

Snape looked quite smug. He may not have loved Harry, but he knew how talented he was. In his mind, this was about to reflect quite well on Slytherin House. "Your move, Gilderoy." Snape sounded very much like a chess grandmaster who had just made a finishing move.

Lockhart smiled enigmatically back at him. "Competent Potter, huh? An interesting distinction, Severus. Let's see if it holds up, shall we? Charlus Potter, come on up!"

Harry's eyes gleamed. A chance to show the entire school exactly how superior he was to his more famous twin. That was an idea he could get behind. Hell, it would probably even leak to the _Prophet _within the day.

When Charlus stalked up to the stage and stood opposite Harry, the young Slytherin found himself surprised at the look on his twin's face. He might have even been unnerved if not for his Occlumency and his own self-confidence. The boy who stood across from him didn't just look confident. He looked resolute, determined and… vengeful, cruel, animalistic?

All of the above.

Not what Harry had expected to see from the Champion of the Light and the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

"Shall we make this one a best of three, Severus?" Lockhart proposed.

Harry internally cursed, but forcefully clamped down on his mental control, keeping his face completely blank and indifferent. The man was trying to study him. Assess and evaluate him. Well, this was a pain. Suddenly, he had an intense feeling of deja vu. It was eerily similar to the encounter with his brother from the gala back in August.

Once more, he had to beat his brother for his own ego's sake, but it wouldn't do to show exactly how advanced he was.

Bugger!

Snape nodded curtly. "Very well."

"Any final words from either of you?" Lockhart asked. Harry was quite sure that wasn't standard duelling procedures. The man was really fishing for information now.

"Game over, Harry," Charlus said in a voice not quite loud enough to carry to the audience. Harry suddenly realized what his brother was implying. He really did think him the Heir of Slytherin. And somehow, he thought this duel would put a stop to the attacks.

It was both so far off the mark and so pathetically naive that Harry could have laughed.

Instead, he settled for a roll of his eyes. "Let's get this over with."

"On the gong!" Lockhart prompted. Harry tensed his body as the hall took a collective breath.

_GONG!_

Harry leapt to the side right away, reacting on instinct. Lucky he had, for several curses sailed through the space he had occupied a second or so earlier. A spell chain to open, huh? That was interesting. Quite a good one, too. The wand movements had been perfect and the casting had been fast — very fast. Accurate, too.

When Charlus's next volley was strategically placed to lead Harry into yet another onslaught, his eyes narrowed. His brother was clearly more experienced than he'd suspected. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought. He had no doubt he could win, but whilst holding back…

Damnit!

Harry conjured an Aegis Vocar and forced the spell to move with him. He overcharged it, hoping that it would absorb Charlus's next volley but it didn't. He was forced to roll to the side and when he came back up to his feet, he was done playing defence.

With a slash of his wand, Harry fired a Stunner towards Charlus at top speed. When the boy sidestepped, he let a volley of spells fly from his wand, forcing his mind and emotions into the perfect state so the magic flowed faster. Charlus was suitably shocked by how fast the magic flowed towards him and he lost his wand, obviously taken aback by the exceptional casting speed.

"Point, Harry Potter," Lockhart declared, quickly setting up for the second round as he and Snape stepped out of the duelling wards once more after assuring both participants were in position for the second round.

It was clear Harry had won the opening round primarily due to Charlus's own overconfidence. It was equally clear the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't be making that same mistake again.

_GONG!_

This time, Harry sought to end things quickly. He sidestepped the opening volley again but decided to bat Charlus's final spell back towards him, hoping to take him out the same way he had Isabelle Caneiro.

It was to no avail.

Charlus expertly rolled under the spell, coming back up to his feet and releasing a torrent of offensive spells to match Harry's. Harry frowned as he just barely managed to dodge. He tried to direct Charlus's movements with spellfire but the boy was wise to it, this time. After thirty more seconds of trading spells, Harry became fed up and decided to stop holding back.

He wiped his mind of all thought except for clear, precise intent, and a metaphorical storm of magic surged towards Charlus.

"Protego!"

If not for Occlumency, Harry would have been shocked by Charlus's ability to conjure that shield. As it was, he had already moved into position and from the side where his brother's shield failed to cover him, Harry caught him with a well-placed Banishing Hex and sent him hurtling through the air. With a crackling sound and a bright flash of light, Charlus slammed hard into the duelling wards and was sent forcefully back into the arena, rolling several times once he hit the ground.

Lockhart made to signal the end of the duel but before he could, Charlus was on his feet once more, enraged.

"Exoculatus!"

...what?

Harry's Occlumency abandoned him as the white spell neared. How the fuck did his brother know that spell? Better yet, why the fuck was his light zealot of a brother casting a Blinding Curse that was categorized as dark?

This didn't make any sense at all!

At the last possible second, Harry conjured a hasty Protego.

It held, but barely.

"Potter!" Lockhart bellowed. "Under the rules of-"

"Lacero!"

WHAT THE FUCK!?

Harry dove to the side, knowing from experience that a standard Protego sure as hell wasn't going to stop that. Worse still, that had been aimed at his chest.

What the fuck was going on?

When he came back up to his feet, he batted Charlus's Stunner back towards him and let loose with a wave of magic, no longer holding back in the slightest. Lockhart and Snape were both hastily trying to lower the duelling wards, as Charlus had by now been obviously disqualified, but it wasn't a fast process. Before they could, Charlus was sent flying into them once more, and the magical backlash sent both professors to the floor.

Charlus had bounced up at a shocking rate, but Harry hadn't waited for him this time. He had cast as soon as his twin had landed back on the stage, knowing all too well that his brother wouldn't give up that easily.

He had made that fact rather obvious already.

Having not the time to shield nor dodge, Charlus simply raised his wand and fired a spell right back at Harry, a warped look of hatred marring his bruised face. Evidently, he'd smashed it against the stage during one of his falls.

What worried Harry more than his brother's appearance was the fact that he didn't even recognize the boy's next incantation.

"IAPETUS!"

Harry realized two things at the same time.

The first was that the closest thing he came to knowing what the incantation meant was that the Greek titan Iapetus had been known as "the Piercer".

The second was that his and Charlus's spells were on a direct collision course. He had only seen this happen once before- during Grace's duel against Flint and Higgs in the common room.

Not knowing what spell his brother had fired off, he had no idea what the results might be should the spells meet.

Might they cancel each other out completely? Ricochet chaotically in random directions? His overpower Charlus's? His twin's overpower his?

It turned out that none of those happened.

What did happen was far more fantastical.

As the spells forcefully careened into one another, they did seem to cancel each other out, but not in the way Harry had expected.

The spells conjoined, and in their place was a brilliant bean of golden light, one that seemed to be composed of pure energy.

No… magic.

It was magic solidified, somehow forced into a physical form.

Harry's natural ability with Legilimency may not have been as potent as Charlotte's, but it was practically singing to him. If magic had been radiating off of the Mirror of Erised in waves, then it was now crashing into him with the force of the entire ocean.

The air practically smelled of it.

Moreover, this beam wasn't the only one.

More golden strands seemed to stretch outwards from both his and his brother's wand until the two of them found themselves enclosed not only by the duelling wards, but by a brilliant structure of pure, golden light.

A shimmering, ethereal dome of magic.

Harry could hear the voices of the onlookers, but they sounded quiet and far away. Vaguely, he registered that the professors had managed to take down the duelling wards and that both of them were now firing spells hopelessly into the dome-like structure that seemed to isolate both himself and Charlus.

Their spells were reflected back at them each and every time.

When Harry's attention returned to the main beam of light, the one connecting his wand to that of his brother, he realized that smaller, more intricate beads had formed on the larger strand of light. They were slowly creeping towards the tip of his wand.

Intuitively, he somehow knew that this was some sort of test. A battle of wills, of sorts. He had no idea how the fact popped into his mind. It was as if magic itself had informed him of it.

He wouldn't know until later, but that was exactly what had happened.

He couldn't lose to Charlus. He wouldn't lose to Charlus. Not in a duel, not in a magical showcase, not at Quidditch, not in this, not at anything!

He cleared his mind of all thought and crushed every single emotion but one.

Pure, utter defiance.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the beads of light began to creep back up towards the tip of Charlus's wand.

* * *

Meanwhile, outside the magical phenomenon taking place in front of them, the Great Hall was pandemonium. Many of the students had tried to rush as close as they could to the centre of the stage. Snape and Lockhart were forcefully directing traffic. More accurately, Lockhart was keeping students as far away from the oddity as possible whilst Snape fired spell after spell at the golden dome to no avail.

"What the hell is going on?" Charlotte asked Grace, clinging onto her older sister's arm as they crossed paths, using her other arm to take Daphne's hand. Hopefully, her older sister, the Head Girl, would be able to get them closer than they would get otherwise.

They had to know what was going on! They had to know what was happening to Harry!

"I don't know!" Grace admitted, needing to shout in order to be heard over the chaos surrounding them on all sides. "I've never seen this before… never even heard of it." She looked down at her little sister. "What do you feel, Charlotte? When focusing on it?"

Charlotte shivered. She had done that for all of three seconds before retracting her Legilimency. She could sense magic, even though it was a skill she was quite novice at. But this…

"Charlotte!"

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, focusing on it once more. She wanted to withdraw immediately. It was so… wrong. So unnatural. It felt ominous, foreboding, and infinitely powerful.

Nothing that felt like that should exist in this world. She was certain of that, if nothing else.

"It's… unnatural. It feels like it shouldn't be here."

Daphne looked puzzled by that explanation but Grace nodded darkly, as if she had expected as much. "Stay here," she told both of them firmly, drawing her wand and turning towards the centre of the pandemonium.

Before she could cast, Snape evidently lost patience and decided to play what must have been his ace.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!"

Unlike all other attempts, the odd bluish slash in the air did not simply disperse against the barrier surrounding the Potter twins.

It seemed to slice straight through the magic itself and the barrier wavered before, with an explosion of pure magic, it erupted outwards, and Charlotte felt completely weightless as her world was turned upside down.

* * *

Harry had been so sure he would win the battle of wills.

As soon as he'd occluded, it swung drastically in his direction.

But then, on the brink of defeat, his brother had let out a primal snarl and, amazingly, the beads had begun to slowly slide back towards Harry. Just as they neared halfway, Harry focused harder. Harder than he had ever focused on anything in his entire life.

Before he could see the results, he was consumed by a feeling of weightlessness and then, with a gasp, all the air was forcefully extracted from his lungs as he collided hard with the nearest wall. Charlus had evidently done likewise, but Harry was the first to his feet and what he saw and felt made his eyes widen and his jaw unhinge.

The dome of magic was gone.

But the magic itself was not.

Now, it flowed around the room without any sort of structure at all. All of the occupants of the hall seemed to be climbing back to their feet. Obviously, they too had been thrown forcefully to the floor by whatever magical backlash had finally broken through the otherworldly barrier between the Potter twins and the rest of the school.

As for the magic… it was humming.

It gathered into a sort of cyclone in the middle of the hall and what appeared to be thick, golden dust began to spin faster and faster as it seemed to solidify. As the rate of its speed increased, so did the ominous air in the hall. An ethereal humming seemed to fill the ears of all present as the magic and power built and built. Suddenly, Harry was filled with irrational feelings to lash out at his brother, to ensure that their battle concluded. He crushed it ruthlessly with Occlumency but cried out a second later as Charlus's Lacero grazed his arm and caused blood to pool.

Somebody who sounded like Daphne screamed, but it was lost in the worried murmurs that filled the hall. The feeling was growing more ominous by the second; and as the magic built and built, everybody felt dread close in on them. Snape tried another one of the curses which had failed the dome, but it had no effect. It was simply swept into the cyclone and only seemed to bolster whatever was about to happen next.

Just as the feeling of impending disaster mounted, there was a blinding flash of fire near the doors and heads turned to see Albus Dumbledore. He was standing just beyond the entrance of the hall and staring at the magical phenomenon in front of him with hard, blue eyes.

The twinkle was absent from those eyes.

For the first time since meeting the man whom Harry had grown to despise for his own, personal reasons, he thought that maybe there really was some truth to the light's propaganda that Albus Dumbledore had been the only man Lady Voldemort had ever feared.

Indeed, as Dumbledore's wand rose in a vehement stance of war and his phoenix let out a cry that sounded fit for the battlefield, Harry wouldn't have blamed her.

"FIENDFYRE!"

Harry didn't recognize the incantation, but he suddenly felt his skin crawl as his Legilimency senses picked up whatever the fuck Dumbledore had just cast.

The world around the Headmaster seemed to blur and distort as if the air was bending into something different, something… more. A second later, green fire was everywhere, and the humming sensation all around them was suddenly filled by something even more sinister.

Evil, malevolent cackling.

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure if it was just him, but he could practically feel raw hatred emanating from the concentrated mass of fire as it closed in on the cyclone of magic in the centre of the hall. Perhaps it was a matter of Legilimency attunement. If so, he could only imagine how Charlotte felt right about now.

The flames met the cyclone and the cackling grew louder as the ruthless, malevolent fire seemed to exalt in its consumption of the otherworldly magic that had permeated the hall just seconds earlier. After several moments, all in the hall could feel the presence of the cyclone receding and, with a mighty slash of his wand, Dumbledore sent the flames spiralling high before, all at once, they were snuffed out, leaving nothing but a ringing silence behind in their wake.

Before anybody could move, Harry felt magic aimed at his back. He whirled and dodged Charlus's next spell.

He was so done with this shit after everything that had just happened.

If his brother wanted to play dirty, that was fine by him.

"Serpensortia!"

A ten-foot cobra lunged from Harry's wand and eyed Charlus cruelly. Before it could advance further, Charlus's mouth opened and the next thing out of it made everyone in the hall gasp.

"**STOP!"**

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**So obviously, Priori Incantatem works differently in this story than it does in canon. It will be partially explained in the next chapter, and a more thorough explanation will come much later in the story. I promise it will make sense in time.**

**In other news, the next chapter of the AoC audiobook is live on YouTube, Spotify and ITunes. The links to the project can be found on my profile. If you would like to check it out, it's there, and I would greatly appreciate some support on those platforms. It is completely free and very well done by the narrator, CCCP from my Discord server.**

**Next: The fallout of the Saviour's most damning secret being revealed for the world to see. Plus, our favourite masked instructor makes another appearance, leaving complete and utter chaos in his wake.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, October 31st, 2020. **

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Athena Hope for their contributions/corrections this week.**


	39. SS Ch 21:Deadly Drama Part III

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin **

**Chapter 21: Dangerous Duels & Deadly Drama Part III**

* * *

_**December 17, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**7:49 PM**_

It took Harry several seconds to realize why the Great Hall was gaping at his twin, and several more to realize why the silence was perhaps more absolute than that from moments earlier, which had accompanied the mystifying, magical wonders of the duel. After a moment, his brain put two and two together and his eyes widened.

'Oh… fuck!'

Charlus was a _Parselmouth_!

Unlike the rest of the hall, that wasn't what had Harry reeling. It was the fact that until now, he'd never even considered that such a thing was possible.

Of course his brother would be a Parselmouth! It was a hereditary ability, after all. If Harry possessed it, so would Charlus.

Yet somehow, those dots had never connected inside Harry's mind.

The implications of this revelation were nearly infinite.

It confirmed that somehow, the Potters were connected to Slytherin, despite everything _Nature's Nobility _said against the fact, as well as the book Tracey had gifted him which covered his family history in greater detail. It also let Harry discover that he was no longer the only Parselmouth in the school, even if this Heir of Slytherin was bluffing.

But there were more major implications as well.

The first of which almost made Harry smirk. If the school was truly as petty as he suspected it to be, he wondered whether he would still be the prime suspect in the hunt to find the supposed Heir of Slytherin. Of course, anybody with a brain would realize that if _Charlus_ Potter was a Parselmouth, _Harry_ Potter should be one too. Yet the wizarding world didn't exactly seem to be gifted with logic, so it was very possible that whatever force controlled karma had just given his brother a large metaphorical middle finger.

Granted, this would probably confirm to the Gryffindors that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, in their eyes. He might actually need to fear for his life in the halls, so there was that.

The Gryffindors would most likely still suspect him and whatever his personal thoughts about Lockhart, the man had brains. He was going to put the hereditary dots together and Harry very highly doubted his suspicion would shift. It would likely only intensify.

That might have seemed major in the short term, there was one implication that was potentially far more significant.

He and Charlus had both fled _to_ the scene of the first attack.

Charlus had said something about following a commotion. If Harry had been in his place, that was probably the exact excuse he would have come up with. Was it possible that Charlus had heard the voice as well? Was it possible that the voice was not so disembodied after all?

If so, then he had a feeling that he knew the identity of whatever monster supposedly lurked within the hidden Chamber of Secrets. Not exactly, mind you, but if that had indeed been what had pulled Charlus to the scene of the crime, then he was willing to bet a fair bit of gold that the voice's source was a snake of some kind.

Coincidences were often just events that were too convoluted to see through, after all. That was another quote from one of the older, more personal tomes left behind in the Speaker's Den.

Well, that's what it would be in more modern English, anyway.

But those were deep, meaningful thoughts that were better had later. For now, he needed to look surprised. If he wanted to have those sorts of thoughts, they should be directed towards exactly how he could potentially spin this situation to throw the less logical population of Hogwarts off of his trail. For now, surely a great deal of them would suspect him of being a Parselmouth too.

Speaking of which…

The snake had frozen as soon as Parseltongue left his twin's lips. Harry was only assuming it to be Parseltongue. To him, it had sounded like perfectly normal English. But judging by the shocked, horrified reactions of those around him, he was certain that he was right. The good thing about this was that it may well teach his brother a lesson and, in addition, Harry wasn't going to get in serious trouble for his conjured serpent taking a bite out of his tosser of a twin.

The bad thing was that now that said snake couldn't attack its primary target, it reared around, looking for the next person in line who could suffer at its hands.

And its eyes found Harry.

Conjured serpents were supposed to be completely submissive to their conjurer. Parseltongue unfortunately had the ability to override that, and now Harry was in a predicament.

'Oh… fuck!'

Silently, he reflected on how often he had thought that tonight. Far too often, but it was just so apt on every occasion. It was truly just one of those nights.

The snake tensed and reared back, poised and ready to strike. Harry's heart skipped a beat. He made a split-second decision to do nothing. He would never be able to raise his wand in time, and revealing himself to be a Parselmouth as well would be utterly disastrous. People suspecting it was one thing. Confirming it was another thing altogether. Plausible deniability was a powerful advantage he did not wish to concede. Not that he was fond of the idea of getting bitten by a snake, but at least here, in front of the entire school, he was pretty sure somebody would heal him swiftly before too much damage could be done.

Or better yet, stop the snake from striking him at all.

He caught motion out of the corner of his eye just as the snake was blasted up into the air. With the threat removed from his general vicinity, Harry glanced around and realized that it had been Grace who had stepped forward and banished the snake. When the thing landed and hissed, she swished her wand in a fluid motion, and the serpent vanished.

Once more, the hall fell silent.

Harry fumed as his eyes rested on Dumbledore. Perhaps the man hadn't meant for Harry to get bitten, but he hadn't raised his wand to stop it from happening either. Granted, the Headmaster looked so surprised at the whole thing that he actually may have just been spaced out completely.

Or he could have been occluding the entire time. That option was equally possible.

Everybody in the hall seemed to wait for the metaphorical bomb to go off.

Before it could, Granger and Weasley rushed forward and began to guide Harry's dazed-looking brother swiftly out of the room. Lockhart's eyes seemed to narrow on the boy. Harry thought he was going to call after him, probably to inform him he had hell to pay for using illegal magic during a duel. Dumbledore rested a hand on Lockhart's shoulder and gave a minute shake of his head. Harry would have fumed that Charlus was getting off, but he didn't actually think he was. The gesture didn't seem like a rejection, just procrastination.

Dumbledore was going to sort it out in his own way. Just not now.

Just as the hall started muttering, Harry felt an arm wrap protectively around him and he was suddenly pulled right up against another, taller body. For a split-second, he tensed, but crushed the feeling of unease with Occlumency, glancing to the side and up into Grace's bluish silver eyes.

"We're leaving. No questions, just go."

With her arm still draped around his shoulders, Grace began to lead Harry towards the hall's exit, walking at a very brisk pace. Rhea tailed them, as did several other of Grace's friends. Harry couldn't help but notice that every single one of them had their wands drawn. None of them held those implements in a position to quickly use them, but it was obvious to any who knew what to look for that all of them were tense and ready to react on a moment's notice. Grace held her own wand in the hand that was not attached to the arm wrapped around her young protégé.

The muttering rose as they neared the exit, but before it could amount to an unreasonable degree, they had already left the hall. Grace did not release her grip on Harry, and he suddenly realized why. They weren't the only ones exiting the hall. If Grace kept Harry close to her, it would be nearly impossible for anybody to curse him, which was clearly something she thought of as a very real possibility.

Footsteps began to make themselves present, closing fast. Rhea's wand was the first to turn as Harry glanced over his left shoulder to see Cassius, Calypso and the Carrows in hot pursuit. They too had their wands drawn and their visages were pensive. Behind them, it was a clustered, chaotic throng of students who were pushing towards the doors. Harry suspected his younger set of friends were likely trapped somewhere amid the herd.

"We're coming with you," Calypso insisted. Her voice was as hard as steel as she stared Rhea down. It was apparent to all present that the Rosier Heiress would use force to get her wish if need be. Grace glanced briefly towards Harry before looking over her shoulder. Harry nodded once, signalling his acceptance of her wish.

"Let them," Grace told Rhea and her friends. The sixth-year prefect lowered her wand reluctantly, allowing the four fifth-year Slytherins to follow them off to wherever Grace was leading them.

* * *

_**Moments later, in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor…**_

"What?" Charlus asked loudly. He was extremely confused. Everything that had just happened was such a blur. Vaguely, memories started coming back to him. Memories detailing exactly which spells he'd used in the second round of his duel with Harry.

Shit!

That must be why his friends had hastily whisked him out of the Great Hall. Perhaps they feared the Slytherins' retribution. Not that he had actually managed to hit Harry with any of those curses, except for a Lacero that had grazed him.

Merlin, his twin was good.

Like… really good.

He had beaten Alicia in the first, more open round. It had been a fairly close duel, but still. She was a third year and a fairly talented one at that. Yet against his brother, he had mounted almost no offence at all. Even when he had dipped into his darker set of tricks.

Why had he done that?

What the hell had made him think that was a good idea?

He just remembered raising his wand and trying to select his next spell, knowing that all others before had failed him. It was almost… instinctive. And once he cast the first spell… he had been so angry. Rage had consumed him, but it had felt so good to throw those curses around, even when they weren't landing. Though then again, Harry's constant evasion of said curses had only fuelled his rage further. Which, in turn, had only led the reddish haze to grow thicker and for his morally unacceptable spells to flow more freely.

Oh, Merlin, he had really botched this one! To think, everybody had thought the flying car had been bad…

"When the hell were you going to tell us?"

Charlus felt even more confusion flood his already clogged brain. That had not been the first question he had been expecting Ron to ask. Where did you learn those curses? What were you thinking? What is wrong with you? All of the above would have been expected questions, even if he would have been utterly incapable of producing an acceptable answer for any of them. But that…

"Tell you?"

"Yes, tell us!"

"Tell you what, exactly?"

"That you're a bloody Parselmouth!"

Wait… what?

"That I'm… huh?"

"The snake! You… you commanded it, didn't you?" Hermione asked timidly.

"I… I only told it to stop?"

"Oh, is that what you said to it?"

"What do you mean? You heard me! I said it in front of the whole hall!" Both of his friends shook their heads.

"Charlus," Hermione said after taking a deep, heavy breath, "we didn't hear anything you said. We just heard you speaking Parseltongue. To us, it just sounded like a bunch of incomprehensible hissing."

Charlus's mind blanked. "You-you're not having me on, are you?"

Both of his friends shook their heads once more.

What the hell was going on? He couldn't be a Parselmouth, could he? Surely, he would have known if he were a Parselmouth. He would have known years ago. Hell, to be a Parselmouth, he would have had to be related to Slytherin, but…

"That's impossible," he said numbly. "The Potters have no relation to Slytherin. The only way anybody can speak to snakes is if they have the trait in their bloodline."

"How do you know you're not related to Slytherin?" Hermione's question was asked very carefully. "The Potters have been in Britain for more than a thousand years. How do you know that somewhere down the line, there wasn't an affair or something? If it was an affair, something that would have been disgraceful, then naturally, it would never have been recorded."

Charlus opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and tried to argue.

No words came out.

He looked to Ron imploringly. Ron looked sheepish. "You were speaking it, mate," he said apologetically. "We all heard you, clear as day. We had no idea what you even said to it."

"But… obviously I was telling it to stop!"

His two friends exchanged looks. "Plenty of people thought you were sending it after your brother," Hermione admitted. Charlus's eyes widened in horror. The worst part was after he had thrown around such malevolent magic so carelessly, he could hardly blame anybody for making that assumption, even if it wasn't true.

Wow… this had not gone to plan.

So much for showing up his brother.

Wait a minute… his brother!

Charlus's eyes widened again. "Harry!"

Both of his friends looked confused. "Er… what about him?"

"If I'm a Parselmouth, he's also a Parselmouth!"

Hermione's eyes bugged out. "Which means..." she started.

"That he really is the Heir of Slytherin!" Charlus finished, nodding viciously.

Hermione hesitated. "Well, it does make sense that anybody who may be opening the Chamber of Secrets would be able to speak to snakes. And… the odds of three Parselmouths at Hogwarts aren't very high."

"And you're obviously not doing it," Ron said emphatically. Charlus realized in that moment that neither Ron nor Hermione had recognized any of the magic he had thrown towards Harry. Obviously, they had seen the effects of the Lacero curse, but that had been a graze, so it probably hadn't looked too awful. He didn't look nearly as bad to them as he should have.

He could come clean, but they were on a much more productive line of thought, so he said nothing to divert said path. It was far better for Charlus to allow Hermione to begin plotting how exactly they would infiltrate the Slytherin common room using Polyjuice Potion than to let her and Ron question him on exactly what kind of magic he'd been using.

That was a conversation he would much rather save for a later date. Or preferably, not have at all, for that matter. He still had not entirely worked out for himself why he'd thrown that sort of magic around, and it was troubling him deeply for reasons he couldn't intelligently articulate.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in an abandoned classroom...**_

Harry, Grace and the others got to an abandoned classroom before anybody, he included, realized how much blood was seeping from his arm.

"Merlin, Harry," Cassius breathed, looking wide-eyed at his young friend. Harry, finally being released by Grace, glanced down at his side and paled.

The right side of his robes was soaked with blood, and the cut on his arm was very deep, although the Lacero curse had only grazed him.

Calypso rushed forward in an instant, wand in hand. Before she could reach him, Grace stepped between them, raising her own wand and shooting a look towards the younger prefect. Calypso clearly wanted to protest, probably to put in that she knew how to heal the damage, but Grace was having none of it.

The Head Girl traced her wand slowly and intricately through the air directly above Harry's cut and muttered in a language that he didn't know. It definitely wasn't Latin, nor was it Greek or anything similar. If he had to bet, he would guess German, but it wasn't a language he was at all familiar with, so he was pulling at strings.

To the utter astonishment of all present, whatever Grace was muttering worked flawlessly. The effect of her spell was an odd, silver haze that seemed to flow into his cut. It hurt like hell. Harry sucked in a sharp breath and his knees almost gave out, but Grace steadied him with an arm around his waist. A second later, when he looked down at where the cut had been, it was gone.

That was new.

Calypso had healed the damage caused by Lacero before. On those instances during their duels, any time the spell was cast, it was done so with a deliberate lack of true intent behind it. Because of this, the results were always less damaging than what Harry had just experienced. Yet even then, it always took Calypso at least two, most often three passes over the cut with the same incantation to heal it.

Grace had done so with one incantation. With one spell.

Even Calypso looked awestruck. Judging by the brief-expression of pure incredulity on her face, that wasn't supposed to be possible, at least not based on what she knew.

Harry's respect for Grace grew even more. Calypso had put a large amount of time into healing. Those who frequently learned questionable forms of combat magic needed to, if they ever planned on casting said magic. Yet even Calypso's ability paled in comparison to Grace's. And as far as Harry knew, Grace's career path wasn't that of a healer. He had absolutely no idea what she was planning to do after this year, but he somehow couldn't picture the brilliant heiress of House Weitts slaving away at Saint Mungo's for the majority of her life.

Her presumed lack of specialization in the field of healing only made the feat more impressive. Hell, even the Carrows looked surprised.

Grace's wand didn't stop after healing Harry's cut. She spun on her heel and aimed at the door, weaving her wand through the air like quicksilver, drawing tight, intricate runes so fast that Harry's eyes could barely track the wand movements. Whatever she was doing, she had done it before, and not just once or twice.

When she had finished her own wards, Calypso shot her a questioning glance before looking at the door. Grace shrugged. "You can add wards if you'd like, but it's completely unnecessary. Nobody will find this room unless I want them to." Calypso wordlessly cast what Harry knew to be Muffliato despite Grace's proclamation. When she had concluded, Grace turned to Harry. She looked perfectly calm, but there was an odd intensity in her eyes.

"Potter, I need you to answer me honestly. Are you or are you not the Heir of Slytherin?"

Harry's eyes widened. "W-what?"

"Answer the question."

"No… I'm not the Heir."

Grace nodded. "I didn't think so, but I had to check. With your brother being a Parselmouth-"

"I don't know how he can speak to snakes," Harry said, forcing complete confusion to the forefront of his mind. Damn, he loved Occlumency. He hoped that by pleading ignorance, Grace would provide him with a plausible set of circumstances he could begin regurgitating to all who would listen. Hopefully, the reason would be easy enough to believe as to imply that Harry couldn't be the Heir of Slytherin. "I'm certainly not a Parselmouth."

There was an instant of time so short that Harry almost missed it. An instant in which Harry thought he saw… something in the Weitts heiress's posture. A heartbeat later, he was sure he had imagined it.

"Is that possible?" Rhea asked slowly. "To be a Parselmouth and your brother not be one? Or, in this case, vice-versa?"

Everybody stared at Grace. Her face was blank but her eyes were churning. Harry could practically see the gears grinding as she thought at top speed. "I suppose it is probably possible. Parseltongue is a hereditary trait, just like… say, Metamorphmagery. The latter trait is notorious for skipping countless generations, not just individual cases. I suppose it's possible that Parseltongue could be similar. I honestly have no idea. We know so little about Parselmagic that it's impossible to say for sure. The known descendants of Slytherin seemed to have advertised that Parseltongue is always a trait possessed by Slytherin's line, but that could be propaganda."

"What I don't understand," Calypso said carefully, "is that the Potters have no recorded relation to Slytherin."

"Don't be naive, Rosier," Grace chided. "The Potters are a family that has been notoriously Liberal for centuries. Admitting a connection to Slytherin, given the connotations of his line, would be highly politically damaging at best. Since the rise of the Dark Lady, it would be far worse."

"I'm not denying that they would like to hide it. What I'm confused about is how they could keep a secret like that under wraps. That seems like something that would be certain to leak out at some point."

"Magic is truly a wonderful thing," Grace answered softly. "If major secrets are meant to be kept, magic can allow one to do it, as long as somebody knows how it needs to be shaped to do so. Magic is nearly a limitless force. That's what most people fail to understand. If a family as old, well off and traditionally skilled as the Potters wanted to hide a damning secret, I don't doubt that they would accomplish that goal with little drama."

All in the room were quiet following the conclusion of Grace's rather ominous proclamation. Harry's mind was whirling, trying to fit all the pieces together. As the Potter Heir, he wondered if it was something he could actually look into. Given his shaky relationship with his father and the fact that he was spending the holidays at Hogwarts, he doubted it.

"But that's not important," Grace was saying. "What is important is that now, Potter is going to be suspected more than ever as the Heir of Slytherin. The majority of the student body is going to assume that he can speak it. There will be those who assume the Gryffindor Potter is guilty, but thanks to our house's shining reputation and the Boy-Who-Lived's sparkling one, I would wager that the majority of the school will still be steadfast against our Potter. And now, with what they will view to be confirmation, the Gryffindors, in particular, might actually turn into dangerous enemies.

"I am trusting everybody in this room to make sure that Potter does not leave the common room alone."

"We've been doing that already," Cassius filled in. "Us here and the rest of the Quidditch team."

Grace nodded curtly. "Good, continue doing that, but know you'll have more help from us now." She gestured from herself, to Rhea, to her other two friends in the room. Harry thought them more followers than friends, but it was only an assumption, really.

He wasn't sure how much he liked this escort business. It made doing anything productive a right pain. It was nearly impossible to sneak out to the abandoned classroom in the morning to practice, and he couldn't frequent the library easily either. That wasn't even to speak of his lessons with Grace. He supposed she could escort him herself, but that was likely to raise alarm bells the two of them had valiantly tried and so far succeeded in keeping quiet.

He supposed that sneaking out after curfew was an option. He could only get so much done at that time of night though. It was a start; a temporary solution. Hopefully, whoever was responsible for the disappearances was either apprehended soon, or made some move that proved Harry's innocence.

Either that, or he was going to somehow learn how to stay invisible for longer than his ring would allow him to. It wasn't magic he'd looked into, simply for the fact that he knew it would be well above his level.

After some more details were hammered out, everybody began to exit the room. Harry didn't need to wait for Grace's subtle gesture. He had already known she was intending to speak privately with him. He just knew her well enough by now to have known it was coming. He also had a distinct impression, if their wary looks were anything to go by, that his fifth-year friends would be waiting right outside the door. He was sure that Grace was also aware of this but if she was, it clearly didn't bother her.

As soon as the door closed, she turned towards Harry. "You don't have any idea how your family could have any links to Slytherin, do you?"

He shook his head. Unlike the bit about his own Parseltongue ability, he didn't have to lie at all this time. "No idea. I've vaguely traced our history back. We've been in Britain since the ninth century, but there's no link to Slytherin that's ever been recorded."

Grace nodded. "I thought not, but I also thought it best to make sure." She pierced him with a penetrating stare. "I need you to answer my next question honestly." Harry nodded reluctantly. "How did you get a handle on emotional suppression and control so quickly? You didn't seem that close last Sunday, yet you have a strong handle on it now. It's not mastered, but it is freely at your disposal." Her face stayed stony. "This isn't the first time you've done something that should be theoretically impossible with the Mind Arts."

That question was problematic.

The honest answer was he had no idea. Reading Emily's notes, he supposed? Even that didn't make sense, as most of what he had read on the topic had been things he'd known already. Seeing them all in front of him at once had helped, but it was… odd. They had all just sort of… clicked and came together in his mind. All of a sudden, it was as if he had always known how to do it.

"I don't know."

Grace's eyes narrowed. "Elaborate."

He bit his lip. "I actually don't know. My readings just all sort of… came together. It all just suddenly made sense."

Grace stared back at him. "I'm going to be frank with you, Harry. I don't believe you. Not even a little bit." His blood ran cold. "You're a very good student in Occlumency. Perhaps even teetering on prodigious. But Charlotte and I both have a stronger affinity to our chosen sectors of mind magic than you do to yours. And neither of us had information just click into place. Nor did we master stage one of Occlumency in half a year — without formal instruction for most of that.

"I don't know who else is teaching you Occlumency or how else you're learning. A book seems most likely to me, based on circumstances, but I don't see how any book could teach such an intuitive subject so well." Harry's heart was racing but he kept his emotions buried and his face blank. "I'm not going to press you. All I want you to tell me is that whatever method you're using, you trust it. Not only its competence, but you trust that it is in no way, shape or form manipulating you, influencing you, or causing you anything negative in any way whatsoever."

Harry had to think about that. Emily hadn't done anything to him that he would consider negative. It was technically possible that she was manipulating him with her explanation of dark magic, but he doubted that was the case. She had been nothing but honest with him, best he could tell. She also let him be the instigator of most of their conversations. That in and of itself screamed of openness, and Harry liked to think he would have at least had some sense of unease if he was being manipulated. He certainly didn't trust Emily unconditionally, hence why he was still going to ask Grace about the Dark Arts, but he trusted her enough to affirmatively answer this question.

He also supposed he could ask Grace about the Dark Arts now, but given that as a segue, it would likely only make her more suspicious; that was better left for a later date.

"I trust my source of information. I am as sure as I can be that I'm not being influenced or manipulated."

There was a long pause in which Grace seemed to pierce him with her stare once more. He felt no Legilimency probe, not that she couldn't have snuck a subtle one in without him knowing if she wanted to. Despite that, he was sure she was not using Legilimency, but it did sort of feel that way, what with the manner with which she was looking at him.

"That's good enough for now," Grace decided. "If that changes, you will come to me immediately. Agreed?" Harry nodded. It was odd. Grace could have an ulterior motive. She was one of the few people who could blatantly lie to him and get away with it if she wanted to based on her level of prowess in Occlumency, but he somehow didn't think that to be the case. This entire conversation didn't scream of plots and planning. It had until the others had left, but since they had been alone together, Harry and Grace's discussion had felt more like a genuine one. One a concerned older sister might have with their younger brother.

Wow, that was an odd thought. Not that he ever thought Grace would look at him like that. She was probably just so used to speaking that way to Charlotte that was how it came across. Even if it wasn't applicable, that was a very strange thought to Harry.

"I do have a warning for you," Grace's voice was suddenly as serious as Harry had ever heard it.

"A… warning?"

"Yes, and a request. They go hand in hand." She paused, obviously choosing her next words very carefully. "Dumbledore is going to ask you about this. There is no way he won't. That man's mind is currently working at a million miles an hour, trying to work out what is all going on. If you have anything to hide, use whatever method you learned to get a grasp of that subskill. But try applying it to Active Occlumency. Theoretically, it should be impossible. It should only be able to be learned with an active partner, so unless that's how you're learning, which I doubt, it should make no difference. Then again, as I have said, you've already done things with the Mind Arts that shouldn't be possible at all.

"So if you can identify this method, I would use it again. By now, Dumbledore will be getting desperate, and this does not look good for you. What with the Weasley twins conveniently vanishing, followed by this confirming in many people's minds that you're a Parselmouth. I doubt Dumbledore is going to miss his chance to… press you on the matter if you know what I mean."

She thought Dumbledore might legilimize him?

Fuck!

How the hell was he supposed to prevent that. Avoiding eye contact like the plague, he supposed. Then, he remembered something else. "Grace?"

"Yes?"

"Charlotte knows something about Lockhart. Or, in her words, she knows of circumstances that lead her to suspect things about Lockhart. Is it safe to assume you're in the same boat?"

Grace seemed to choose her next words very carefully. "It would be a safe assumption for you to make based on the information you have, yes."

"I'm not prying, but Lockhart has been the main supporter of the theory that I'm the Heir. Do you have any idea if he might know Legilimency? Because if he does, he's definitely going to try and use it now."

Grace thought about it, looking as though she were doing so with great intensity. "I can tell you that I'm quite certain Gilderoy Lockhart didn't know Occlumency or Legilimency when he left Britain to start travelling in 1979. Now, I'm quite sure he at least knows the former."

"According to your sister, he does."

"She would know better than me. Anyway, if he's learned the former, it's not impossible that he's learned the latter, even though practitioners of Legilimency are definitely rarer than those of Occlumency. If I were you, I would prepare for the worst and hope for the best."

_Proper preparation prevents poor performance_. The quote replayed once more in Harry's mind and he nodded. "Thanks, Grace."

She smiled. "Any time, Harry. One more thing." He looked curiously up at her as she stepped closer to him. Grace rested both hands on his shoulders and looked down at him intently. "Just be careful, okay?"

He nodded. "I almost always try to be. It just doesn't usually work."

* * *

_**Later that night, in the Speaker's Den…**_

Harry's conversation with Blaise, Daphne and Tracey had been held privately and concluded promptly. He'd told them all he was not the Heir of Slytherin, had untruthfully assured them he could not speak to snakes, promised them that he was okay and that he was not going to do anything stupid, and then rushed off to the Speaker's Den.

That was where he resided now, with both the journal connected to Emily Riddle and the woman's old, personal journals laid out in front of him. For now, he chose to pay the live journal his attention. There would be time to experiment with the older material later. He really didn't think there had been a trick to it. He was fairly sure he'd just gotten exceptionally lucky and that was that.

What he was more curious about was what the hell had happened? How did his brother know that kind of magic? What could have possibly made the Boy-Who-Lived resort to it, and what in the name of Merlin had all that mysterious, magical nonsense been about? And those flames that Dumbledore had conjured…

He was pretty sure Emily Riddle would have no answers for anything regarding his brother. Consequently and fairly obviously, he had no plans to ask her about him. But the more magic-based questions? If anybody he knew could answer them, she was quite literally at the top of that list. If she couldn't provide him with the answers, he would probably never find them.

_Emily,_

_I've had possibly the craziest night of my entire life. I am completely baffled and wondered if I could ask you some questions that I somehow think are ridiculously obscure and even more complicated?_

It was as if Emily could sense the haste and panic with which he wrote. Her response was practically instantaneous and if Harry had feared his warning about complexity might scare her off, he was sorely mistaken.

_For what must be the hundredth time by now, you never need my permission to ask a question. When have I ever denied you information? Of course, I will answer your questions. Firstly though, I would like to know what has you so wound up._

Harry took a meaningful period of time explaining to Emily exactly what had happened up until the conclusion of his duel with Charlus. He left no detail out. No movement, no thought, no curse. He even told her how odd it was for his brother, the would-be paragon of light to be throwing around "dark" curses as if they were some cheap, poorly built muggle contraption that was fifty percent off.

_Do you know how he learned of these spells? Or when exactly?_

_Neither. I would assume he learned them since the end of last year. We… _

Shit! That had been close. Harry had almost just admitted he and Charlus had been in a life-threatening situation at the end of their first year. Today had really taken its toll on him, apparently. Obviously, he was off his game. He clamped down particularly hard on his Occlumency before putting his quill to the parchment once more, but with a higher degree of caution this time around.

_We got into a… stressful situation at the end of our first year. Let's just say he had more reason then to throw around dark spells than he did now, but he didn't use them then. _

Emily's response was slower this time. _That is fairly well thought out, yes. Without all the necessary context, it is hard for me to say, but I would tend to agree with that assessment based on the admittedly limited amount of information I have. I asked because plenty of people learn the Dark Arts the wrong way._

_What do you mean, the wrong way?_

_We spoke some time ago about the myth that is dark magic addiction. I explained to you that primarily, this myth exists based on a misconception. Can you remember what that misconception was?_

Of course, Harry remembered. _It's powerful magic that is addictive, not dark magic._

_Indeed, that is correct. But I also spoke to you of one exception in which magic commonly referred to as dark could be addictive. Can you remember that instance?_

Harry actually had to think about it. Not because his memory was failing him, but because Emily had never said it in language that plain. It had been there, but deciphering that precise meaning required some reading between the lines on his part.

_You said that if you couldn't conjure up the proper intent and chose to cast on raw emotion, it could cause problems._

_Correct. This is not an issue with magic commonly referred to as being dark, but with esoteric magic in general. I am assuming you will have no trouble in telling me what esoteric magic is?_

Harry almost sighed. Emily did love testing him. It was partially why she was such a great teacher, in Harry's opinion. _Esoteric magic is any spell that requires emotional fuel to cast as well as intent._

_Mostly correct, though it does not technically need to be a spell. Things like rituals can also fall into this categorization._

Harry frowned. _I… didn't expect you to bring rituals up when writing to a twelve-year-old._

He could practically feel the amusement dripping from every line of her response. _You are not like any twelve-year-old I have ever met. _

Harry smiled in spite of himself. _Touché._

_Back on topic. The problem is not necessarily with dark magic, but with esoteric magic. Anything that requires raw emotion to cast, especially when, in instances of casting powerful magic- which is almost always the case when said magic is esoteric- is intrinsically addicting. It is so by nature. If your brother has learned to cast by using raw emotion as a catalyst, that would explain it. It would particularly explain why he completely lost control after the first questionable spell._

_If he has been practicing this way for all these months, it is simply conditioning. I have spoken of magical memory on numerous occasions. It is a powerful force and one to be respected. It extends to the mind, as well. When he casts the first spell, his mind instinctively knows what is to come based on his prior training. It has simply become a mental cue, of sorts. It is already producing the emotion it thinks necessary for his next spell. Which, in turn, would only spiral with said addiction. It would be exacerbated further by the high stress of the situation and the fact that whilst duelling you, he was likely quite frustrated._

That… was shockingly logical and made perfect sense on every level.

So the question now became, what idiot would teach the Boy-Who-Lived to cast magic like that with raw emotion?

_Again, _Emily continued, _this is a fundamental component of esoteric magic. The Boggart-Banishing Charm is one that I would suspect you know of. If a person were to cast that often enough with no mental monitoring, they would become naturally infatuated with the charm. The same goes for the Cheering Charm. That is actually one of the reasons you are explicitly told not only to not have it cast upon you often, but to rarely cast it yourself. _

Harry was still nodding along. There were gaping holes in the story that he just couldn't fill as a result of missing context he may never be made privy to, but it seemed the most likely solution to him. It made perfect sense, as did most things Emily ever spelled out. She was perpetually insightful, that was for sure. On that note…

_That makes sense, but that whole incident wasn't actually the most baffling that happened tonight._

Harry could practically see Emily's eyebrow raise despite the fact he had no idea what she might look like. _Oh? Now you have me truly interested. The events you have written about already are intensely intriguing. I am curious to know what, in your estimation, is even more puzzling?_

Harry did the best he could to describe what had happened when Charlus's spell had collided with his own. From the beam of golden light connecting their two wands to the odd, ethereal enclosure which had served as their makeshift prison, to the odd way that Harry had intuitively known what to do in the battle of wills despite being completely baffled as to what was going on. He told as far as Snape breaking the connection. At that point, he stopped and waited for her answer.

It was a much longer wait than usual, and it somehow felt ominous.

_I confess that I have only ever heard myths of such things happening. This… is magic that I should not name. It is magic that is hitherto unknown. Magic that has not been lost as much as it has been buried by those who control the world. It is magic that is dangerous on a level that not even the Unforgivable Curses could ever hope to match. _

_But you know about it?_

Her reply felt hesitant. _I do, yes. As I said, I have spent much of my life dedicated to furthering my own understanding of magic. One could say I am less than fond of restraints put on the thing itself, particularly in regards to what a person can and cannot learn. Hence, I have never been one for following such restrictions._

_So… will you explain it to me? _Harry asked hopefully.

_I can explain the specific instance, I suppose. But you cannot repeat a word of this to anyone. This is probably the least sinister incarnation that this lost branch of magic has to offer, but it is a gateway to far more terrible things. Things that people in your country would disappear in the middle of the night simply for knowing about._

Harry's breath caught. What hellish kind of magic could be so dangerous that people would be silenced simply for knowing about it? What on earth was he getting himself into?

_What happened tonight goes by several names. The most accepted of these, many centuries ago, was Priori Incantatem._

Harry blinked. _Is it a coincidence that it sounds so similar to Priori Incantato?_

_Not at all. _

Harry nodded, writing for Emily to go on.

_This is… difficult to explain without telling you things you are far safer not knowing. However, I do not see any way of explaining this without at least revealing what this branch of magic is called and revealing at least a minimal bit about it. I am going to give you the option to stop me now. Once I tell you this, it is a secret you must guard against even your closest of friends. You cannot tell a living soul you know the name of such magic, let alone any of how it works. For your own safety and for that of those around you, I implore you to keep what I am about to say to yourself._

Harry could practically feel the temperature in the room drop by ten degrees. The light seemed to dim despite the vividly painted walls and the place which he had always thought of as a sanctuary suddenly felt far less welcoming. It was no longer a safe haven, but an open podium on which he would stand and be judged by whatever force was making the air around him seemingly tingle with tension, with danger, and with intense foreboding.

Stubbornly suppressing all emotion that threatened to rise to the surface, Harry wrote his next message with an admirably steady hand. _I promise I won't tell a soul._

A long pause, and then…

_The best way to describe Priori Incantatem would be to call it a magical phenomenon. This is true for every bit of phenomenon within this ancient and dangerous branch of magic._

_What is the subject, or branch, or whatever it is called? _

_Chaos Magic. _Just those two words seemed to whisper sinisterly in Harry's mind, and he actually shivered as he felt some sort of cold impression as it seemed to touch his very soul, sending a tremendous tremor of trepidation through his body. Clamping down on his emotional control once more, Harry focused back on the journal, in which more words were written now_. _

_Magic not of this realm. I will not get into details about Chaos Magic. I am sorry, but I resolutely refuse. Suffice to say that magic is a force that lives all around us, and that force is what we draw upon for spells, wards, rituals and the like. Chaos Magic differs because the magic is fundamentally different. It is being drawn from a different source altogether and the force does not act in the same way. It is magic borne of chaos and impossibilities. It is, in many ways, how the magic we know of today came to be. _

_I understand if you can't tell me this, but if it helped to create magic how we know it, then why is it so taboo?_

_Because, Harry, the problem came when we humans learned to control magic. Chaos Magic is not meant to be warped and controlled. When that became a possibility, if admittedly not a likely one, it was an apocalyptic problem._

He could actually sort of understand why. The magic that had filled the Great Hall both during and after Priori Incantatem was in effect truly did feel otherworldly. It felt immensely powerful and seemed to dwarf all else in the room. If that sort of magic could even be partially controlled by those with nefarious plots in mind… yes, he could see how that could be problematic. Possibly even apocalyptic.

_The reason the names Priori Incantatem and Priori Incantato are so similar is because the prior gave wizards the idea to create the latter._

That was quite perplexing. _How did they come up with that?_ _They're nothing alike._

_They are more alike than you realize. Your scenario was exceptional, even in the case of Priori Incantatem. All legends about the event indicate that it takes place when two wizards duel with implements containing brother cores. In your instance, this means whatever core your wand possesses is linked to that of your brother. So, say, if you had a phoenix tail feather as your core, this means your brother would have a feather from the tail of that same phoenix._

Harry thought about that. The probability of such a thing happening seemed incredibly small. He had only ever heard of one phoenix, and that was the one that currently resided in the very castle that he currently occupied. Yet if what Emily was saying was the truth, then that must be the case.

Odd though, for he very much doubted Charlus had purchased his wand in Knockturn Alley.

Very strange indeed.

_In any case, _Emily continued, _in any legends that I have read about Priori Incantatem, the conclusion of the battle of wills always ends when one combatant forces the smaller beads of light to make contact with the other's wand. In the short term, this triggers the loser's wand to regurgitate the spells it has most recently cast. In the long term, there are… other, more complex effects. For the scope of this explanation, what is important to know is that the victor gains an eternal advantage over the opponent that fell to his will._

_In many ways, Priori Incantatem happens because of an impossibility. Brother cores are intrinsically linked to one another. By their nature, they are meant to work in harmony with one another, and will optimally perform when that scenario is the reality. They are extremely reluctant to fight one another, so they seek to end the conflict in the most decisive yet least destructive way possible. By forcing the battle of wills upon the two combatants, it is magic's way of seeking resolution. To magic, the victor of the battle is the one most worthy to wield said cores, hence, they will now have an eternal advantage over their adversary. _

_Possibly, this is also magic's intervention. The ancient Greeks theorized that this was magic's way of discouraging the loser of said battle from trying again, thus hopefully avoiding future conflicts. I personally do not think it that complex. Magic is all about balance at its core. There is always give and take with magic. It takes your free will for a time and locks you in a battle that will have long-lasting consequences. Because of this, I think magic is simply rewarding the victor for winning the battle as a way of maintaining the balance I spoke of. The take was forcing the battle and the give is the result. This is just my theory and it could be wrong, but it does make sense to me._

That was a lot of information to take in. Harry could see how wizards may have seen the natural occurrence of one's wand replaying its acts and sought to artificially make that same thing happen on a lesser scale. It was actually rather clever. Yet, he and Charlus hadn't reached the point of resolution.

_What do you think happened with Charlus and I then? We never got to that point. The barrier or whatever you want to call it was broken. The connection went down with it._

_I can only guess, for as I said, there are no instances I have ever read that speak of such things happening. For that matter, I would be intensely curious to see what spell broke the effect. I would not have thought it possible without using means that would have been very obvious. The only means I can think of that would likely have broken the connection are such that you would be specifically aware of how the connection was broken._

Harry shuddered. He was sure that she was at least in part referring to whatever the hell Dumbledore had conjured to combat the angrily churning cyclone of magic that was set to tear through the Great Hall as if it were a tornado in the heart of Death Valley.

_So, you think magic trying to force a resolution is why I suddenly felt like I needed to fight Charlus? I actually had to occlude in order to block it._

_That is a very insightful theory, Harry. Well done! _Harry felt his cheeks flush and didn't bother suppressing it since he was alone. Praise in written form felt nearly as alien as it did in person. _Yes, I think that is likely what happened. The surge of magic in the hall you described was probably the remaining ambient magic unsure of what to do next._

Harry wasn't sure if he actually wanted his next question answered. Part of him thought it was probably better left a mystery but damn his natural curiosity. _What do you think would have happened if it would have been allowed to form?_

_I have no idea,_ Emily admitted for possibly the first time ever. _Magic of this source, manner and magnitude is impossible to predict. In part, I think it would have sought a way to force your hand in facing your twin once more, even in spite of your Occlumency. Doubtlessly, it would have sought repayment from whoever managed to break the initial connection. Beyond that, I am unsure. _

_How exactly was the magic dispelled when it turned… chaotic? You never did get as far as explaining the specifics, just that it was taken care of. I can only think of one spell that would work, but I hesitate to imagine any would use it in a school. Specifically when considering that I am quite certain only one living person within that school knows how to cast it. _

Harry paused, wondering how best to even put into words what had happened in the hall. Without affirmation, he was quite sure that whatever Dumbledore had done fell into this categorization of Chaos Magic. Just as certainly, he knew that the magic employed was far more dangerous than that of Priori Incantatem. The difference, at least in their situation, was that Dumbledore had possessed control over whatever monstrous manifestation of magic he'd conjured.

It took Harry some time to work out how exactly to explain the phenomenon beyond the obvious visual cues. Billowing green flames, the odd, distortion in the air as if the very world had been opened to something more, and the way the fire had consumed the ambient magic churning in the air. What was more difficult to explain was the unmistakable feeling of utter malevolence, as well as the unnatural feelings of hatred and fury that arose simply by standing near the fire. Not to mention the irrational dread the flames spread effortlessly throughout the room in a way that not even the surging, ominous magic before it had managed.

After quite a time and several attempts, Harry was fairly sure he'd done an adequate job of explaining to Emily exactly what had transpired. There had been a brief moment in time when he debated not telling her at all. It seemed sensitive information to put it kindly. On the other hand, he very much doubted Emily would do anything with the information that would negatively affect him. Plus, she had told him about this Chaos Magic, which was apparently a massive risk to take.

The time waiting for Emily's response was longer than Harry had ever waited before. It was blatantly obvious that she was choosing her next words with the utmost caution.

_It is as I suspected and feared. I will not speak the name of that spell, even if you heard it cast aloud. It is an evil far beyond Priori Incantatem because it is one of the instances I spoke of earlier that caused the branch of magic to be buried deep within the belly of history. It is a wizard controlling this branch of magic to do things that should not be possible within this world. Albus Dumbledore is quite probably the only person alive who could cast that spell and not disappear in the middle of the night for committing said action. He is also one of probably only three people in the world who knows how to cast that spell. _

_Your best course of action is to forget all about that spell, Harry. Do not think about it or its incantation. It is not magic to be trifled with. _

_Please do not go looking into Chaos Magic. It is an utter waste of time. I very highly doubt there is a book in England that would even speak of the myths pertaining to said magic, let alone the thing itself. Above all else, pursuing that avenue is a long, twisty and treacherous road, one that metaphorically looks over the edge of a very large cliff. There have been rare individuals who have tried to traverse this road, but almost all of them have fallen prey to the dangers and toppled off the edge, never to return. _

Harry could not help but feel his heart flutter. Emily had never spoken of magic with anything but utter reverence. Now, she spoke of this Chaos Magic as if its very use would be the destruction of all things.

That alone put Harry on edge.

He would keep his word. He would tell nobody of this, nor would he go looking into secrets clearly best left undiscovered.

But he would not soon be forgetting the raging power of Fiendfyre, nor the enchantingly ethereal hum of Priori Incantatem. Even if he could, there was a part of him that never wanted to forget that power.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, back in the bathroom on the second floor...**_

Now alone in the bathroom and hidden safely away from the potentially prying stares of his two best friends, Charlus shook madly as he rubbed his hands all over his face, trying to make heads or tails of what had happened earlier that day.

It was a blur, a haze of red in his memories that he had no hope of deciphering. He could not remember thinking, let alone justifying nor barely even acting. It was as if something external had seized forceful control over his mind the moment he had cast the first dark curse towards his brother.

Charlus shook even more. The thought that somehow, someway, he was being pulled down a slippery slope that could lead him into the pit of darkness scared Charlus more than anything else in the world. He couldn't deny that lately, he had been utterly miserable, fed up with the world and clearly morally questionable when push came to shove.

He took a long, shaky breath. He needed to get to the bottom of this, and there was only one way he knew how.

Well, one reliable way, anyway. He could ask his father, but he practically blanched at the very thought. What would his father, Lord Potter, Senior Auror and high-up member of the Liberal Faction think of his son's potential descent into darkness?

No, that was not a conversation Charlus would be willingly entering himself into any time soon.

But he knew somebody whom he trusted nearly as much as his father. A man who had never let him down and a man who he highly doubted would be judging him for whatever was plaguing him.

It was to him who Charlus needed to reach out.

* * *

_**December 18, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:11 AM**_

_**The Boy-Who-Lived Shows Shades of Darkness as the Hogwarts Duelling Club Descends Into Dangerous, Deadly Chaos!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

"Charming," Harry commented dryly as Daphne turned her morning edition of the _Daily Prophet _so he and the rest on his side of the table could see it.

"She works fast," Tracey observed.

Harry's outward countenance didn't change, but that comment struck true. She did work fast. Unnaturally fast, it would seem. The incidents which she was doubtlessly writing about had taken place barely twelve hours ago, yet she had evidently heard about them in time to publish an article for the very next morning.

That should not have been possible.

… at all.

Even if Skeeter had sources within the castle, which she obviously did, there was no way communication should have been that fast. An owl could certainly have reached Rita overnight, but certainly not in time for the publishing process to take place promptly enough to distribute the morning edition of the paper in time.

Harry really needed to look into methods of magical communication. There were obviously both owl post and the floo, but neither option would have worked in this instance. Owl post would have been much too slow, and no student had access to the floo network within Hogwarts. Not unless the common room fires could be used, but even then, doing that discreetly sounded nearly impossible.

The only other method of contact Harry knew of was the instantaneous messaging system he enjoyed utilizing to contact Emily. He and Charlus had those parchments too. Well, Charlus had left his at home and obviously never asked for it to be sent back, but if that was the case, they clearly existed. Then again, in one instance, the connection had been set up by Voldemort, and the other by Dumbledore. Neither magical was exactly the norm. It was possible that setting something like that up was exceptionally difficult.

"Daphne," he asked, following that same train of thought, "do you know of any ways somebody could instantly contact another person out of the castle? A plausible way, that is?"

Daphne thought about it, tapping her finger on the table. "There are two-way communication charms that can be applied to things like books. They would work. If you're trying to figure out how Skeeter is doing it, that could maybe be it."

"How difficult are these books to get ahold of? Or how difficult are these charms to cast?"

She thought about that for a moment. "The books' legality is… a grey area. They're not illegal to own, but they're not exactly legal to sell. You can definitely get them if you have the right connections, but it would probably cost an arm and a leg because of the risks involved for the seller."

Harry nodded, indicating that he was following along. "And the charm?"

"I'm not actually sure, but I'm assuming it's very difficult, or else everybody would probably have one."

That was Harry's line of thought as well. From the sounds of it, one did not need the skill of Dumbledore or Voldemort to cast it, but it didn't sound as if it could easily be done by your everyday witch or wizard, either. Possibly, Skeeter was that skilled, but Harry doubted it. If she was, he saw no reason why she would be a writer for a newspaper when there would inevitably be far more lucrative avenues for her to explore if she truly was that skillful.

She could have had somebody else enchant it for her, but then how would she have afforded it? He didn't imagine that being a writer for the _Prophet _forked out a salary high enough to purchase something like that.

Yet, he could think of no other answer, even as he read the article in question, frowning disdainfully at the last paragraph, in which Skeeter tied it back, in part, to him. If Charlus was a Parselmouth and he was caught at the scene of the crime, it obviously meant either both twins were guilty, or Harry was guilty, right?

It was certainly the outlook the school had. Harry had been escorted by his older and younger set of friends this morning, plus Derrick and Bole. It was the first time he'd left the common room since last night's incident, and they wanted to be especially careful as they gauged the school's general reaction.

It was less than positive.

As Harry mulled over these thoughts, he failed to notice a tawny owl flying low over the furthest table from where he sat, the one draped in a crimson tablecloth.

This meant that he also failed to notice the way the bird landed in front of Charlus and how the boy took on a look of utter relief upon reading it. And then, how another letter found itself in front of him. This letter, in contrast to the first, caused the Boy-Who-Lived to pale dramatically.

* * *

_**Several hours later, on the third floor…**_

Charlus had never been so nervous for a simple meeting. He supposed that in a sense, this meeting was anything but simple. In another, he was meeting with a man with whom he was intimately familiar with. He very much doubted the problem on their hands was simple. He just hoped that his godfather would have an elegant, simple solution to the problem.

Charlus had hastily sent a letter off to Peter in hopes that he would get it as soon as possible. He would have mailed his father, but he was unsure and unwilling to find out how the man would have reacted to his son casting dark magic. It wasn't as if he wouldn't tell him. He fully planned to do just that eventually, but it would ideally be after he spoke with Peter on the matter and perhaps gained at least a small bit of understanding in regards to what exactly had happened.

Through some brilliant stroke of luck, Peter had apparently been in Hogsmeade last night. This meant that Charlus's owl found him promptly, and Peter had returned a letter that very morning at breakfast. The letter had instructed Charlus to meet him in a hidden passage the boy hadn't known existed. Thankfully, Peter had provided him with specific instructions as to how said passage could be accessed.

Less thankfully, that hadn't been Charlus's only bit of correspondence. He had also been visited by one of the school's owls. It carried a letter with familiar, looping handwriting. Charlus had immediately recognized the letter as courtesy of the Hogwarts Headmaster. The letter was polite but firm. Charlus would meet with Dumbledore at 3:00 PM in his office. The Gryffindors had Friday afternoons off from classes, so this worked out well on paper.

Thank Merlin Charlus was going to be able to meet Peter beforehand. Hopefully, he would at least be armed with and ready to provide Dumbledore with an answer more adequate than "I don't know, sir."

Charlus came to a sudden halt in front of an odd statue of a one-eyed, hump-backed witch. After glancing around to ensure that he was indeed alone, he removed his wand and tapped the witch's hump in an oddly significant motion.

"Dissendium."

Suddenly, Charlus could see exactly which passage his godfather had spoken of and within seconds, he was inside, allowing the Hogwarts end of the said passage to close behind him. He glanced around but didn't initially spot Peter. That was until a greyish rat on the passage's floor began to transform as Wormtail, (the affectionately created alias for Peter's Animagus form) morphed into the DMLE's current most decorated detective.

"Uncle Pete!" Charlus surged forward and wrapped his arms around the man, burrowing his head into his shoulder as his body began to shake with equal parts terror and relief.

"Hey, sport, calm down, alright. Everything is going to be okay, I promise." Peter rubbed the boy's back soothingly until Charlus finally trusted himself to put some distance between them. "Obviously I got your letter, but I want to hear it from you. Tell me again exactly what happened last night. Not just what happened, but how you felt during all of it."

Charlus told him. He told him about his duel with Katie in the first round and how he had been so proud of the way he'd bested the older girl. He told him about the first round of his duel with Harry. How surprised he'd been at his brother's prodigious skill and how overwhelmed he'd felt when Harry had begun casting faster than Charlus thought possible for any their age. Then, the interesting part of the story arose, and Charlus explained how his mounting frustration and surging anger had gotten the best of him. He explained how the mere sight of Harry had driven him to fury for reasons he could not entirely articulate beyond the fact that he suspected his brother guilty of attacking his best friend's twin brothers.

Finally, he explained how after the first dark spell had been cast, he had completely lost himself to the furious haze of red that had suddenly become his reality, and of the magical happenings that followed. How his wand had connected with Harry's. How, even after it had broken, he felt some sort of compulsion too powerful to ignore that seemed to dictate he continue the battle with his brother. He even told the man about the odd, green fire Professor Dumbledore had conjured.

As soon as he spoke of Dumbledore, Charlus's anxiety mounted once more. "And I have to meet with him, Uncle Pete! At 3:00 PM! Less than three hours from now and I have no idea what to tell him! I did do all of that, the whole school saw me. It's not like I can lie about it. I did use dark magic and I'll have to admit it. I'm going to be expelled and I'm afraid I'm going dark."

The boy unknowingly made puppy eyes as he looked up at his rather pensive godfather. "Can you help me, Uncle Pete? Am I going dark? Am I going to be expelled? What's going on? You-you've never failed me before, so I thought… I thought I should owl you."

For a full minute, Peter didn't answer. After that time had elapsed he closed his eyes and let out a deep, heaving sigh. "You're not going to be expelled, Charlus," he assured his godson in a very tired sounding voice. "I… don't entirely know what's going on, but I'm going to find out in one moment." The man paused. "I do have to apologize for one thing though." He bit his lip. "Two things, actually."

Charlus looked nervous. "What is it, Uncle Pete?"

"The first is that I have failed you. You just don't realize it yet." He hesitated, feeling very real pain rise at the look of shocked confusion that now marred his godson's face. "The second is for what's about to happen."

"Stupefy!"

A sudden flash of red light lit up the otherwise dark passage and with a dull thump, Charlus's limp body hit the floor.

From a corner where he'd lurked for the entirety of the previous interaction, a figure shimmered into existence as he cancelled his Disillusionment Charm. Of course, there had been a brief shimmer in the air when he moved to stun Charlus, but the vivid red light against the otherwise dark background had almost been blinding to Peter's eyes, accustomed as they had become to the gloomy lighting of the passage. Because of this, Peter had missed the initial shimmer.

The figure who now marched towards Peter and the fallen Boy-Who-Lived wore a long, grey, hooded cloak. One with a hood that somehow managed to cast his face into shadow, even if you were to look directly through its opening. As he neared the two other occupants of the passageway, the man known as Mr. Bellona reached up and lowered his hood, allowing his golden blond hair to cascade from its prison once more as his blue eyes shone malevolently.

"You're… sure that you can do this safely, aren't you?" Peter asked the now unmasked former member of Lady Voldemort's inner circle.

Evan Rosier smiled thinly at Peter as he knelt in front of Charlus Potter, removing a long, dark wand from his cloak and pressing it gently right in between the boy's eyes. "Do not doubt me, Pettigrew. If I am not capable of something, I will say it as it is." Then, he turned his attention back to the stunned Potter in front of him.

"Legilimens."

Memories and emotions flew through Rosier's mind at top speed. The boy had no Occlumency measures to speak of, so the process was positively trivial. Within minutes, he'd extracted everything he needed to know from the past number of months and when he next stood to his feet, he wore a very calculating expression. "You misjudged the boy, Pettigrew."

"I see that even without Legilimency," Peter said shortly. "I thought he was more like James. I didn't expect the magic to corrupt him. You did teach him to cast with emotions, right?"

"Of course I did. What neither of us foresaw was the boy actually succeeding whilst handicapped. He did manage Lacero back in August, but I had thought it a one-time occurrence. I was wrong. He has been effectively casting these curses with the catalysts of hatred and fury for the past number of months."

"So that's why he snapped on his brother?"

Rosier's lips twisted into something that indicated he was cruelly amused. "Partially, yes. Though it is deeper than that, I'm afraid. You see, the reason the foolish boy snapped in the presence of his twin was that he was using every negative feeling he had towards said twin as his focus. This meant that in the presence of his brother, his mind was naturally wired to react this way already. Once you learn to cast on hate and fury, your body recognizes that. Once he cast the first spell, the emotion was already conjured. His brain expected more spells to come. This, combined with his shortsighted focal point meant that, in the presence of his brother, he was akin to a boiling cauldron of mishandled Felix Felicis."

Peter winced. He had been quite good in Potions and mishandling that particular draft would have… explosive consequences. "An… interesting analogy."

"I thought it quite apt."

Peter sighed. "I thought he would be more like James and Sirius. I thought that if you didn't actually show him the most efficient way to cast, he wouldn't be able to cast it."

"And you were then hoping, like your group of delinquents, he would become curious enough to delve into the Dark Arts for himself. At which point, he would begin to realize that they are not as terrible as the bigoted zealots around him would have he and his friends believe."

Peter nodded. "It wouldn't have brought him into our Mistress's arms, but it would have been a start at weakening Dumbledore's hold on him."

"Fortunately, you admitted even back in the summer that might not work. Which is why we had plan B. Which, in contrast, has played out quite beautifully thus far in ways we could not have possibly foreseen."

"Has it?"

Rosier's smile turned predatory. "Oh yes, it has indeed. Charlus Potter has pushed his twin so far over the past number of months that I daresay their relationship may be irrevocably shattered. I suppose it is possible that they could make up once more, but last time, his brother was visibly more reluctant to do so as opposed to last year. Next time, I don't think he will be so agreeable at all."

"Which," Peter continued with a small smile, "hopefully pushes him further towards our cause." Peter nodded thoughtfully. "So, the question is how do we spin this?"

"I would have thought that to be obvious."

"Oh?"

"In a way that benefits our new primary objective. After all, the Boy-Who-Lived will doubtlessly be asked where he learned such heinous magic, and it is of no loss to us if his twin no longer resides within Hogwarts. Durmstrang or such other institutions would welcome him despite the offence."

"And if he does or doesn't, it isn't very relevant either way. He'll blame Charlus for lying through his teeth even if he somehow gets off."

"Which is only to our benefit."

Peter sighed. "Just… only mess about with what you have to, please."

Mr. Bellona's lips twitched. "Of course, old friend." His wand once more aimed at Charlus's forehead.

"Obliviate."

* * *

_**Sometime later, in the Slytherin common room…**_

With the week's classes in the books, Harry and his friends had retired to the Slytherin common room. Harry had debated doing something more productive with his time, but they didn't have long before dinner. By the time he really got into whatever project he chose to work on, he would have to abandon it for the time being anyway. Currently, he was sat beside Tracey, watching Blaise and Daphne's rather tense game of chess while he simultaneously continued carefully practicing the warping and manipulating of emotions.

So lost he was in the process that he might not have even noticed the common room's entrance open up and admit a tall figure adorned, as always, in black robes. The only thing that did tip him off was the sudden shift in the common room's atmosphere. There was something different about their Head of House. He was tense, almost anxious. It was most unlike him.

"Potter, with me, now!"

That tone of voice seemed far too harsh for the situation at hand. To his knowledge, he had done nothing egregious. Nothing even bordering on egregious, as far as he could tell. His friends were shooting him concerned looks but he could only shrug his shoulders in return. The common room's collective attention was fixed upon him as he walked politely towards Snape and followed the man out of the common room. Though the entrance blocked all sounds both ways, Harry could practically hear the muttering erupt behind them as soon as they made their exit.

His name would be the centre of the Hogwarts rumour mill tonight.

Again.

"Where are we going, sir?"

Snape did not so much as look back at him. He just continued his brutally brisk pace. The man was in a hurry. "The Headmaster has requested your presence."

Harry furrowed his brow. This was a meeting he was not looking forward to. Any time he was in a room with Dumbledore, he wanted to kill the old goat. This time, he would at least be able to suppress those emotions and navigate through this encounter with logic and what he hoped would be precision, but he had another disadvantage to contend with.

"Sir," Harry asked carefully, "do you know why he wants to speak with me?"

For the first time, Snape glanced back at him, though he still didn't break stride. "He wishes to speak with you about potentially grievous offences you have committed. Offences that are linked to your brother."

Now, Harry was even more confused. He had never done anything to Charlus. Well, he'd beaten him in a duel if that counted. Or had he? Had the Priori Incantatem rendered the rest of the duel moot? He supposed it hardly mattered. He would have won said duel if it had continued. He also supposed he had already won by disqualification, but Harry didn't count that.

He wanted to ask more questions, but he could tell that Snape was not in the mood to answer them. So he followed the man up towards the familiar-looking stone gargoyle in silence.

"Lemon drop."

The gargoyle leapt aside and before Harry knew it, he was led into the Headmaster's office. Snape didn't leave the room. Instead, he stood quite close to the door, gesturing for Harry to take his seat across from Dumbledore. Right before doing just that, Harry clamped down on his Occlumency, hard. He'd read a great deal about Emily's past philosophies on the art of Active Occlumency. Not that he thought it would do him any good, but Grace had told him to try. At the moment, he was more concerned with maintaining his Passive Occlumency. His emotions could very easily slip out of control during this meeting otherwise.

They still technically could, he supposed. If one got a nasty enough shock, they could easily lose their grip on the grip they held on their emotions, especially as a novice. Obviously, the more practiced one was in a subskill, the more firm their grip on said subskill would be. Even with this in mind, the chances of that unfortunate incident taking place were far lower than they would be otherwise.

"Good afternoon, Master Potter."

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," Harry responded politely, forcing his face into one of interest and politeness to match his voice.

Dumbledore seemed to study him very carefully. "Where is it you were staying during the summer, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "I can't tell you that, sir."

"Why is that, exactly? Is there magic in place which prevents you from doing so?"

"No, it just wouldn't be in my best interests."

As soon as he'd said it, Harry knew he had somehow slipped up. He wasn't entirely sure how, but he knew he had. It was that damn sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes. His facial expression didn't change, but that odd light shining behind his glasses gave it away. It was as if he had just won some minor victory, and the fact made Harry intensely uncomfortable.

"That is unfortunate, Harry. I feel that if you could tell me, it would put you in a much better position. As of now, that answer only validates rather… troubling claims made about you earlier today."

Harry was really sick of being confused. He had to suppress his impatience and annoyance and keep his face blank. "Claims, sir?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore sat back, seeming to study him very intently. "After the… incident that took place at last night's meeting of the Hogwarts Duelling Club, I sought to find myself some answers. I found it peculiar the way your twin reacted during your duel. Very much so, in fact. Just as troubling, I wanted to know where he had learned some of those spells. The latter one he fired, in particular, cannot be found in any books that a child has a right to own." The last spell was the only one that Harry hadn't known, so he couldn't really say one way or the other, but he would take Dumbledore's word for it. Somehow, he did not like the direction in which this conversation was heading.

"On account of these concerns, I spoke with Charlus earlier today. I wanted to gain some insight into both of these matters."

"Did you?"

"I did. The results were… troubling." A brief pause stretched between them before finally, Dumbledore broke the news. "According to Charlus, you and he met up many times over the summer. During these meetings, Charlus seems to be under the belief that the two of you spoke at great lengths regarding rather sensitive topics. One that arose was dark magic. Dark magic that you agreed to show him."

Harry's mind blanked. That made no sense. The only time he'd ever met up with Charlus was during the Potter's gala, and even that hadn't been voluntary on his part. What the hell was his brother playing at? Was he that certain that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin? Was this his twin's way of trying to seek justice? To frame him for a crime he didn't commit?

Harry felt his heart beat faster but ruthlessly forced down all emotions for the time being. He could not lose his head right now. If he did… he was fucked! He would say something implicating and because of the sheer idiocy of magical law, there was actually a chance he could lose a case.

This was bad.

"I never met up with my brother over the summer, Headmaster. The only time I saw him was at the gala on our birthday. I've only spoken with him once since our argument last June. He hasn't been pleased with me ever since."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Harry, you must see how this looks. You have now been implicated in two crimes in the past month and a half. On one hand, we have a vehement account coming from a supposed eye witness. In regards to the other, we have circumstances that seem to implicate you even more directly."

"I had nothing to do with the Weasley twins." Harry hated himself for the outburst but couldn't stop it. He knew that's where Dumbledore's mind had ventured and he could not allow that line of thinking to continue much further.

Yes, he could see how bad this looked. Implicated in two crimes, and one could potentially tie into the other if somebody looked deep enough and reached far enough.

Fuck!

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Where were you on the night of the Weasley's disappearance?"

"In my dorm."

"Are there any who could vouch for this?"

The answer was a resounding no. He had been the last to bed and the first awake. He suspected that Blaise would still vouch for him if the topic arose though.

"Blaise."

"And, would his memories of the night's affairs hold up?"

Fuck!

"I didn't think pensieves were admissible in court, Headmaster."

"In circumstances where there is enough evidence to directly implicate a party to a major crime, as deemed so by the Wizengamot, a pensieve can be used in a court of law. It is a trying process that involves the verification of the memory's authenticity and is obscenely expensive, but it is doable. In an instance like this, I am sure the money would be of no issue."

Okay, this was getting really bad. Now, he had been caught lying if Dumbledore tried to use that memory. If that memory proved Harry was a liar, it was very possible the court wouldn't even accept any counter memories of his own.

He also wouldn't be able to fund that process unless his father helped him. Which, in the current instance, was something he wouldn't bet on.

"There is also this." Dumbledore opened a drawer and removed a book from inside. For a split second, Harry didn't recognize it, then realization flashed in his eyes and soul. Only one thought was racing through his mind.

'I'm fucked!'

The book's cover read _Descent Into Darkness: A Beginner's Guide to the Dark Arts. _It was the same book as one of the two that Pettigrew had given him after the gala. Whether that was a coincidence or not, Harry didn't know, nor did he much care at the moment. He had more pressing matters on his hands.

"You recognize it, Harry?" He didn't answer. He wasn't about to give away anything he had to. Dumbledore looked tired. "I will be authorizing a search of your possessions if you refrain from answering my question."

"You can't!" Harry said at once. "You can't authorize searches of heirs to families on the Wizengamot."

Dumbledore looked surprised. "You have adapted well to the world, but I think you need a book that details the exceptions to laws. If the heir or heiress in question is linked to a crime, the Headmaster may request permission from the lord or lady of whatever house the heir belongs to. If they deem the evidence substantial, he or she may authorize a search."

Oh, he was so fucked! So, undeniably fucked! He was linked to not only one, but two crimes. This book alone in conjunction with Charlus's story was evidence enough. It wouldn't matter if he was actually innocent.

And if what Harry had been told about powerful magic was true, this wasn't good. Naturally, Charlus would have a high probability of casting with emotions if he hadn't been taught properly, which Harry assumed was exactly what had happened, just as Emily suspected. And if he had just been given books on the topic from his twelve-year-old brother… There was so much logic lined up against him, it was ridiculous.

Harry could reveal that he had been at Weitts Manor for the summer, but that had a whole myriad of problems attached to it. James could press charges against them, for one thing. It would put them under Dumbledore's watchful eye. For another. Daphne said he stayed clear of them, but she could always be wrong.

This was not looking good.

"If this search turns up evidence in regards to both or either crime," Dumbledore said heavily, "I shall have to expel you. After that, it would be up to any other affected parties to press charges if they wished. I'm sorry, Harry, but I must fulfill my duty as Headmaster and look into this matter with diligence."

Harry's mind was blank. He couldn't think. No response would get him out of this. His prior logical thoughts had failed him as the same, horrible fear from last year gripped him. The same, horrible fear that had accompanied him being ambushed by Malfoy, Macnair, Nott and Selwyn.

The desk in front of him began to shake as he could feel the air around him begin to churn with some invisible force. His eyes widened and he clamped down hard on his Occlumency. The last thing he wanted was some disastrous incident of accidental magic as a result of his panic in Dumbledore's office. Wouldn't that just be the nail in the coffin? The Headmaster looked intrigued but not particularly worried. In fact, his face was almost completely pensive. Once Harry had, with some trouble, pulled his emotions back under control, Dumbledore asked him one final question.

"Before this happens, is there anything you would like to tell me? Anything at all?"

Harry struggled with indecision for only about three seconds before the door slammed open, almost, very nearly hitting his Head of House, who still stood near it. There, in the doorway was a disheveled, panicked and out-of-breath looking James Potter.

Harry could have sworn out loud.

But then, James Potter spoke the last words he expected to hear out of the man's mouth, though he spoke them through long, gasping breaths as if he'd run here from afar.

"It's… not… Harry! He's innocent!"

Harry's eyes widened.

What the fuck was going on today?

* * *

_**Earlier that day…**_

James had been in the middle of a very monotonous day of paperwork when the missive had found him. Charlus was being interrogated by the Headmaster. Or at least, he would be very soon. That had disturbed James greatly, specifically after the events he had read about that morning in the _Daily Prophet. _If there was anybody he trusted to get to the bottom of what had happened though, it was Dumbledore. The man would surely sort it out.

But then, hours later, James had received yet another missive, and this one was even more concerning.

Charlus had apparently confessed that Harry had been teaching him dark magic. There was even a book- the title of which Dumbledore had listed on the missive- which had been sent straight through the man's floo to the Ministry of Magic. After all, Dumbledore knew how to enchant parchments in the same way that was used to deliver messages each and every day at the Ministry.

James's heart had pounded out of his chest. He knew this couldn't be true, he just knew it. He had watched his two sons intently the day of the Potter gala. Harry had been aloof towards Charlus, and Charlus outright cold towards Harry. There was no chance they were on terms that friendly. James couldn't speak for Harry, but Charlus was not that good of an actor.

There were other inconsistencies, as well. Inconsistencies that, as an Auror, James had been trained for many years to spot.

Like, by example, the fact that Charlus hadn't taken the parchment to school. If he was learning from Harry, that would have been the perfect way to do it.

No, it wasn't possible; there were too many inconsistencies. It didn't add up.

Whether Harry was the Heir of Slytherin or not was another matter altogether. For now, James had to believe it wasn't true.

After learning about Harry's childhood in detail, if he were to be ostracized any further from the Potter family, the bridge would be one that could never be mended.

James had to fix this.

* * *

_**Back in the present...**_

Dumbledore stared at James. If not for Occlumency, Harry would have gaped openly at his father. Seriously, what was going on today? When had his father ever supported him in anything? Let alone against Dumbledore, whom the man had been all too happy to roll over for last June.

"James," Dumbledore said slowly, "there is evidence to the-"

"Harry never gave Charlus that book." Now, Harry's eyes did widen. Thankfully, Dumbledore was too focused on James to notice. It was true, but James didn't know that. He couldn't possibly have known that. Which meant, he was willing to lie to Dumbledore.

"I know it may seem hard to believe, James, but don't you think a search of Harry's things is warranted? We can never be too sure, after all."

"You would find it," James answered. "I gave it to him. I gave it to both of them."

Harry covertly pinched himself under the desk as he managed to suppress only most of his outright astonishment. If the sharp pain was anything to judge by, he wasn't dreaming. He still wasn't entirely convinced of that. James Potter was lying for him! Actually lying to Dumbledore's face for him!

What the fuck was going on?

Dumbledore frowned. "Charlus seemed to indicate otherwise."

"Of course he did! I told him to never tell anybody where he got that book. If things went downhill with it, I told him to come up with anything he could. I commanded it as Lord Potter." James scowled. "I probably should have said anything he could that didn't falsely implicate a member of the family." Harry couldn't believe this. He just couldn't. It was too much. His brain was going to overload.

Dumbledore stared back at James. Without the search, he wouldn't have enough evidence to implicate Harry as the Heir of Slytherin. And if James backed him on the incident involving Charlus, there was virtually nothing the Headmaster could do about it.

Harry knew with certainty that Dumbledore knew as well as he did that his father was lying. Yet, he couldn't call him on it. If he did, that would open a whole other can of political worms that the Chief Warlock clearly wanted to keep closed.

Dumbledore nodded curtly. "Very well, James." He turned to Harry. "I apologize deeply for my apparently false assumptions, Harry. I trust your brother greatly and therefore take his word very seriously. You have my sincerest apologies for the… incident." Harry's heart was still beating a million miles a minute and he did not dare let go of the vice-like grip he had on his emotions but he knew one thing for certain.

James Potter had just bailed him out of potential expulsion from Hogwarts, and he could not be happier or more confused at that moment in time.

* * *

_**December 21, 1992**_

_**The Entrance Hall**_

_**10:20 AM**_

The remaining days before the holidays were uneventful. Harry spent most of them in his common room, intent on avoiding the intense scorn of the rest of the school. He only left the common room after curfew, when he would sneak down to his room in the dungeons to practice magic, or sneak into the Speaker's Den to read the multitude of intriguing texts within. He wasn't actually sure if the room would let him take books outside of its walls and thus far, he had yet to try.

Currently, it was Monday, December twenty-first. In other words, it was the day all of his friends, minus Cassius, the Carrows and Blaise would be returning home for the winter break. Just like last year, it was depressing to watch them all go, but as Blaise put it right before they walked back to the common room, "Think of it this way. You have me this year. And now, at least there aren't hundreds of students trying to curse you everywhere you go. Now, there will only be a dozen or so."

* * *

_**That night, in a London pub...**_

Vernon Dursley was drunk out of his mind.

He didn't drink all that often, but when he did, he made those occasions worth it.

This was one such instance. His last day of work had been completed before the holidays, and he was out drinking with a few of the other high-ups from Grunnings. This was even rarer, though it happened on occasion. It had been a stressful last quarter to the year, and all of them were just relieved that it was over.

By the time the night drew near to a close, Vernon found himself alone as he stumbled out of the pub and towards his vehicle. Vernon knew how wrong and irresponsible it was of him to drive home after being so inebriated, but he wasn't too worried about it. There would be little traffic at this God-forsaken time of night, and he always drove home from these gatherings.

He would be perfectly fine.

That was what he thought until he opened the door to his sparklingly clean vehicle and slid into the driver's seat with some difficulty. Once that had been accomplished, he realized, to his shock and confusion, that he wasn't alone.

A feminine figure sat in the passenger's seat, gazing at him impassively. Vernon didn't recognize her. "Who the ruddy hell are you?"

Her smile was so cold, it could have frozen fire. The stereotype may have been that a woman should avoid drunk men in the dark at night but suddenly, it was Vernon who somehow felt as if he were the vulnerable one in this situation.

A feeling that only intensified when the figure drew a long, terribly familiar stick of wood from their sleeve.

"Just taking payment for a friend, Mr. Dursley." In the final moments of his life, the last thing Vernon would remember seeing were bluish-silver eyes.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Thank you all so much for 3,000 favourites! The popularity of this story continues to boggle my mind.**

**I am very sorry this chapter is only now readable, almost a week after it was originally uploaded. I posted this on Saturday, but FFN decided that any chapter posted Saturday morning or later should be impossible to read for the next five days, so…**

**The next chapter will still be out on Saturday, November 7th. That is not changing.**

**I got a ton of PMs about this over the week, which shows me you're all interested in the story, which is great. If you guys would like a much more efficient way of keeping up with updates like this though, you can follow me on Twitter. All story updates are on there and my Discord server immediately and without fail. Both links can be found on my profile.**

**In other news, the next chapter of the AoC audiobook "The Other Potter" is now up on both Spotify and Apple Music. It will be up on YouTube soon.**

**Since I know somebody will bring it up, Harry was worried about pensieves because he didn't have a case strong enough to submit a counterpoint, nor did he have the gold to fund the verification process. See my AN at the end of the chapter titled "The God of Irony" for more details about this.**

**For those who called for the Dursley's blood… here you go. Whether more will follow remains to be seen on your end. I fully expect some to be unsatisfied, but as Harry has said numerous times, he doesn't care enough to seek them out himself. Giving them such power over him would be a defeat in and of itself.**

**One thing I would like to clear up is that I have obviously made conscious changes to Fiendfyre. Very few people will ever learn details about the spell in AoC, let alone how to actually cast it. This is because, if you can't tell, it's sort of a big deal in this story. That and the fact that I can't stand stories where everybody can just idly cast Fiendfyre. Looking at you, JKR; never introduce such a world-breaking weapon and then have an incompetent side character wield it. I know he lost control of it, but that's hardly the point. **

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, November 7th, 2020.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope and Sesc for their contributions/corrections this week!**


	40. SS Ch 22: Bad Faith

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

**Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story's ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter for live updates and to check out my official website.**

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**SHAMELESS PLUG: For those of you who enjoy the Percy Jackson series, or just Greek mythology in general, I will be posting the first chapter of a PJO fic in roughly 24 hours time. It is a mostly OC centric series taking the place of the original one, but the canon characters will still be very important. For more information, feel free to read the blog on my website. Just use the link on my profile, scroll down to the "Blogs" header, and click "Fabric of Fate Release Blog".**

**I now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfic!**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 22: Bad Faith**

* * *

_**December 21, 1992**_

_**Greengrass Manor**_

_**7:24 PM**_

With a blur of bluish light, the grand entrance hall of Greengrass Manor lit up for a fraction of a second as the light coalesced into a vibrant, magical tornado that dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. In its place stood a girl, slim and tall for her age, with soft facial features, sapphire blue eyes and honey blonde hair.

Knowing that her mother would ask about it, Daphne reflected on her past number of months at Hogwarts. It didn't take long for her to reach the sudden realization that when comparing how she felt about this semester to how she felt about others in the past, she noticed she'd never experienced what anybody would call a normal semester.

Perhaps her first, but even that was up for debate. Her best friend had almost been expelled. Sure, Slytherin schemes happened every now and then, but that one had been quite extreme, even for the notorious house of cunning. The next semester had been anything but normal, seeing as how it had ended in a mystery she had still yet to unravel. It wasn't as if she had tried very hard to do so, but that was beside the point. She knew Harry well enough to know that if he hadn't yet offered up the information, asking about it would be fruitless.

When thinking about it further, even with those odd occurrences in mind, she thought that this last semester might have been the most outlandish one she had yet endured. Supposedly, a mystical chamber housing a magical monster had been opened. That was debatable, but what was less so were the disappearances of several Hogwarts students. It said a lot about the corrupt, backward nature of the wizarding world that neither the Ministry nor the Wizengamot had intervened. She knew Hogwarts' charter prevented many of their would-be interventions, but surely they could do something if sufficiently motivated.

Of course, sufficient motivation would probably only arise if an heir or heiress to an important family found themselves the next on the mysterious assailant's hit list. Seeing as this was presumably the Heir of Slytherin intent on purging the school of the "unworthy", Daphne didn't think this occurrence to be at all likely. Thus far, all that had happened had been the petrification of a cat, and the disappearance of a muggleborn and two twins who were widely vilified as being from a notorious family of blood traitors.

Not exactly anything for the corrupt body that was the Wizengamot to pitch a fit over. However, she knew her parents would ask about it. She sincerely hoped they didn't honestly expect answers. She knew about as much as they did. Well… aside from the fact that one of her best friends was suspected of playing a part in said attack. Then again, she supposed they might well know that too, thanks to the luridly written articles published in the _Daily Prophet._ That was troubling on a personal level, but not exactly a groundbreaking revelation the likes of which would satisfy her parents.

"Daphne!"

Startled, Daphne looked towards the source of the voice. Astoria was walking towards her. She had grown significantly in the past few months while Daphne had been at Hogwarts. Throughout her life thus far, Astoria had tracked about two or three inches shorter than Daphne when comparing them at the same age. It seemed as if that gap may have closed a bit as of late, for it appeared her growth had become exponential.

Perhaps not just physically, either. Astoria didn't fling herself at Daphne as she had last June. She definitely appeared happy to see her, and the sisters did partake in a rather joyful embrace, but Astoria's movements were far more measured than they had been in the past. Daphne wondered if part of this was because her family had started training her in Occlumency since September.

"I assume Mother is waiting in the sitting room?"

Astoria shook her head. "She's upstairs getting ready. We're going to Weitts Manor tonight for a late dinner. Lord Weitts is going to be in Britain until the new year. They're… going to discuss plans for next summer."

Her sister's voice sounded a bit faint at the end, and Daphne could not help but feel a tug on the strings of her heart. If she were Astoria, she would be equally apprehensive given her position.

She just hoped that at the end of the undertaking, Astoria would not only be spared from the rather morbid fate that had been viewed as inevitable for many years but that she would actually be healthy and able to live her life as one of her station was supposed to.

"It's going to work out, Astoria," said Daphne, rubbing her sister's back soothingly. "They've been planning this for years. They wouldn't be doing it if they weren't sure, and there's nobody better to be carrying it out."

Astoria centred herself with a deep, nervous breath. "I know, it's just… it's scary. Especially when nobody has ever tried anything like this before."

"I know. Trust me, I do. We're all worried, but we've been worried for years. There might be a bit of risk involved, but we have to try something. I couldn't live with myself if we didn't, and neither could Mother or Father."

Astoria nodded meekly and Daphne sighed deeply. "Well, I should probably go and clean up before we have to be at Weitts Manor." She also added "prepare" to her internal to-do list. If they would be at Weitts Manor, that just meant more sets of eyes. Particularly in the presence of Lord Giaus Weitts. The adults would inevitably press the younger witches as to the happenings the past number of months at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, so Daphne needed to ready herself for the occasion.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor…**_

By the time Charlus finished explaining how his brother had exposed him to the Dark Arts and how his godfather had explained exactly how that had led to improper instruction which, in turn, had led to Charlus's outrageous outburst at the duelling club meeting, Ron and Hermione were practically speechless. By the time he had finished explaining how, even after this had been brought up to Dumbledore, Harry had gotten off completely scot-free, they were shocked, livid, and resolute.

"There's only one thing I don't understand," Hermione asked nervously. "Why did you wait until now to bring this up if it all happened months ago?"

Charlus stiffened. "I… I didn't want to admit that I'd been looking into the Dark Arts. He… he made them sound so tempting. I couldn't help myself." He hung his head in shame.

"Not your fault, mate," Ron assured him. "He tricked you. That's what Slytherins are good at." His best friend dawned a rather out-of-character expression, one that seemed far too vicious for his young, otherwise innocent face. "Bet he won't like it as much when we trick him back and get him expelled like he should be."

"I agree," Hermione seconded. "This just means that it's even more important the Polyjuice plan goes off well. We can't have somebody that clever catching wind of what we're doing. And he's clearly dangerous in more ways than we even realized."

Charlus nodded stoically, a hard look in his hazel eyes. "We won't fail, Hermione. I'll make sure of that."

* * *

_**At the same moment, in the Headmaster's office…**_

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his oak polished desk, tapping his long fingers anxiously upon its well-varnished surface. It had been a long four days ever since the conclusion of the Hogwarts Duelling Club's first meeting. Not only had Chaos Magic raged in the centre of the school, but the political fallout had been more chaotic than the turbulent magic that had swirled malevolently through the hall. The destruction that had taken place on that night had manifested itself in a magical phenomenon. As stressful as it had been in the moment, no actual long-term damage had been done.

Aside from the damage done to Charlus Potter's reputation. The damage done there would likely prove itself to be longer-lasting and harder to reverse. But Dumbledore knew he wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. As long as they came out on the favourable side of that situation, his reputation would inevitably be salvaged.

The events of the next day were not as easily repaired.

According to Charlus, his brother was deeply involved in the Dark Arts. Involved enough to encourage Charlus himself to follow him down said path, at the very least. His stories had been rock-solid. Dumbledore hadn't seen any gaps when Charlus had told him, and it lined up disturbingly well with the ever-mounting evidence pointing to Harry Potter being the Heir of Slytherin.

But the plot had thickened.

James had intervened and effectively negated Albus's ability to order a search of the Potter Heir's things. It wasn't as if he was just going to expel him on principle. It would depend on what the search turned up. At least this way, they might have conclusively known one way or the other where Harry Potter stood regarding the ever-present conflict between the light and the dark.

Most disturbingly still was that James Potter had gone out of his way to lie, just to get his son out of harm's way.

That did not sit well with Albus.

James never lied to him. If he was choosing to do so now, he had a very good reason. He suspected that it had something to do with Lord Potter's desire to ingratiate himself to his eldest son, hopefully re-integrating the boy back into the Potter family in the process. Dumbledore knew this to be a fruitless pursuit. He'd known ever since observing Harry Potter at the gala this past summer that such a thing wouldn't be possible anymore. At least, not without forced intervention.

He suspected that there was more to James's decision. Perhaps he had learned something that Albus himself wasn't aware of. A detail that caused forming a positive relationship with his son and heir to quickly rise in his list of priorities.

He just wondered what that thing could have been.

James had been researching the Potter family's lineage but, as he had said when bursting into his office, it had turned up empty.

Was it as simple as that? James thought Harry innocent because the Potters had no known blood connection to Slytherin?

Albus wished it was that simple. Perhaps it was. He wasn't certain that wasn't the case, but he more than had his doubts.

He was at least confident that the Chamber of Secrets had indeed been opened, just as it had fifty years ago. He suspected the culprit was the same, in one capacity or another. The problem was finding out the supposed capacity, and he could only think of one way that could have been accomplished.

Well, two ways, depending on how certain magics had reacted on Halloween night in 1981. One of the twin's presences was accounted for that night, however, whereas the other wasn't. The most recent attack was also troublingly close to being directly connected to Harry Potter.

And the knowledge of the Dark Arts…

He sensed a presence nearing his office door before he could finish that thought. "Enter," he called. The door opened, and a tall man in black robes stepped inside, looking as impassive as ever. "Ah yes, Severus. I have been expecting a visit from you for some time now."

"Four days, I would suspect," the man said dryly, earning a rather knowing smile in return from the ancient Headmaster. Snape took his seat across from Dumbledore and studied him impassively. Dumbledore felt no brush of Legilimency; he knew Severus would never use the skill against him, but it did feel as if the man were trying to bore through his eyes and look into his inner soul.

After making his Potions Master wait for a time, Dumbledore thought it best to begin the meeting in earnest. "Well, which question would you like to lead with?"

"What is it that happened when the Potter twins duelled? I have never seen such an occurrence before."

"I would not have expected you to," Dumbledore said a bit darkly. "What you and the rest of the school witnessed is called Priori Incantatem. In some ways, it is similar to the reverse spell effect, hence the similarities in name, but it did not progress far enough for said similarities to show."

"Because the connection was broken?"

"Indeed. If it had been allowed to continue, one of the twin's wands would have been forced to display the last number of spells it had cast. Unlike Priori Incantato, this is not limited. The spells would have kept flowing until the connection was broken. Breaking the connection would have been easy at that point." Dumbledore frowned. "How did you manage to break the connection prematurely? I can think of only a few spells that would have done it, and I am sure you used none of them."

"A spell of my own creation," Snape said curtly. "It is designed to combat inherently magical things, so it had no troubles in severing the very magic itself."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Quite ingenious, a spell with those capabilities." When all Dumbledore received in return was a curt nod, he decided to push the conversation along.

"Without getting into detail, the magic that manifested itself in Priori Incantatem very strongly wanted a resolution. It was intent on forcing the Potter twins to decide a true victor in the least destructive, yet most decisive way possible. When you robbed it of that opportunity, it took issue."

Snape looked pensive. "You speak of the magic as if it was alive."

"Alive is a rather abstract term that we humans have personalized a great deal over the millennia. It was certainly sentient. Some say that magic is a living, breathing force. While that is debatable, its sentience is not. I am unsure of what the magic would have coalesced into had I not intervened, but I am sure that in part, it would have sought to force the Potter twins to continue their confrontation."

"I have still never seen magic like this before."

"Nor will you again, I hope. You saw this form of magic in its most innocent incarnation. It is far more heinous when controlled by those who would wish to abuse it, few as those sorcerers may be throughout history. It is the most evil of magics, Severus. I do not wish to speak on it any further."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Can you at least tell me why the effect manifested in the first place? Is it a case of the brothers being twins?"

"It is the wands, I believe. Any myths of the occurrence have been linked to twin cores."

Snape's face was suddenly even more unreadable. "The Potters have twin cores?"

"It certainly appears so, yes. I admit I didn't know of that until now. I am aware of Charlus's wand composition, but I cannot say the same for his brother. I suppose now, I do at least know the identity of the core."

"Which is?"

"Phoenix tail feather."

Snape wasn't nearly as surprised as he probably should have been by that. It was by far the rarest core on the planet. There were very few known phoenixes. Even fewer who were willing to part with their tail feathers. And good luck taking one from an unwilling bird. Yet Harry Potter, from all he had seen, was a once in a generation prodigy. His brother most certainly wasn't, but he was talented in the wanded subjects, at least. He was also the vanquisher of the Dark Lady, so that surely counted for something.

"And the magic you used to disperse the threat?"

Dumbledore's eyes darkened. "I do not wish to speak of it," he said firmly. "It is magic of a similar nature to Priori Incantatem, magic that I do not dare speak the name of. Suffice to say it is a far more sinister incarnation, one that I am ashamed to know of at all."

Snape could sense he would get nothing more out of Dumbledore. "And Charlus Potter is a Parselmouth?"

"It appears that way, yes."

"Any awe-inspiring insights on how that could have happened? As far as I know, the Potters share no relation to Slytherin."

"Not that we know of, at least," Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. That really was the question, wasn't it? "I have several theories on the matter, one, in particular, that is fairly dominant, but we will have to see how events unfold in the future if I am to be sure."

Snape nodded. "Does it mean the other Potter can also speak to snakes?"

"Potentially, but not necessarily. My lead theory certainly wouldn't necessitate his brother having the ability." He paused. "Seeing how many of the unsavoury things happening around the castle as of late seem to point towards him, it is still certainly a possibility."

"You actually think him the Heir of Slytherin?"

Dumbledore chuckled darkly. "Harry Potter? No, I do not. Not in the slightest."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yet you speak of the boy with such suspicion?"

"If you would have asked me whether or not I thought young Harry could be doing the bidding of the Heir of Slytherin, I would have been far less certain of my answer."

"But he would need to be a Parselmouth?"

Dumbledore seemed to think about that. "Perhaps," he muttered, sounding more as if he were talking to himself than Snape. The Potions Master scowled. Getting a straight answer out of Albus Dumbledore was like trying to steal eggs from the den of a dragon. Completely and utterly pointless.

"So you truly think Competent Potter is in one way or another responsible for the incidents?"

Dumbledore frowned. "I do wish you would not distinguish the twins in such a childish manner."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I hardly think you are in a position to speak on that matter after the events of last school year, Dumbledore."

Reluctantly, Dumbledore nodded. "True, true. I am not certain Harry is responsible, though I do very much wish James would have granted me the privilege to run a search of the boy's things. I believe it would have given us at least a small degree of clarity on the matter." The Headmaster pierced Snape with his blue-eyed stare. "I would like you to watch him for me."

Snape scoffed. "The boy is not related to the Heir of Slytherin incident," he said bluntly.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Perhaps not, but my request does not change."

"Very well," Snape agreed with a fair bit of exasperation.

"If nothing else, I certainly think there is something to the claims Charlus made to me last Friday."

Snape had been informed of these already, having personally escorted Potter to his interrogation, but he still doubted the validity of Charlus Potter's accusations. "I will watch him."

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Severus. For that, I am most appreciative."

* * *

_**An hour or so later, at Weitts Manor…**_

"Grandfather!"

Giaus Weitts looked tiredly up from his open tome that was resting on his lap and smiled softly at the sight of his youngest granddaughter, a warm expression on her face as she walked towards him. Giaus swept gracefully to his feet, allowing the girl a brief hug before taking his seat once more. He moved with grace and precision in spite of his age. Not quickly. He had lost much of his natural athleticism years ago, but his movements weren't exactly limited either. Nor was his mind. His hair may have whitened over time, but his eyes still held just as much sharp intelligence within them as they always had.

"Greetings, Charlotte. How has Hogwarts treated you thus far?"

Charlotte beamed. "It's been great, Grandfather!"

He nodded with satisfaction. "As long as you are enjoying it and it is furthering you as a sorceress."

His own daughter, Adriana, had gone to Durmstrang, just as he had before her. Adriana and his son-in-law had opted to send their two daughters to Hogwarts. He hadn't objected, even though he abhorred the idea of them being under Albus Dumbledore's crooked nose.

Then again, he knew things about Dumbledore that others didn't. His opinion of the man wasn't unbiased. He was well and completely cognizant of that fact.

"And Grace," he said when the family's heiress entered the room. Seeing as he was the lord, many would assume Adriana would be the heiress. On most occasions, she would have been. She was technically the Lady Weitts at the moment, since Giaus himself had never married, and Adriana's mother hadn't stuck around for very long. Hence, Grace was the heiress, even if she likely wouldn't take up the helm of the family for many years to come.

Sigmund was the Regent, and he handled most things pertaining to business, including sitting on their Wizengamot seat. Giaus could have done it, but he just couldn't be bothered anymore. He had given up on it years ago. Since the death of the man whom he considered a surrogate son, he had lost all interest in dealing within the borders of Magical Britain.

"Hello, Grandfather," Grace greeted respectfully. "How have you been?"

"The same as ever," Lord Weitts said with a slight curve of his lips. "Little has changed for me over the year I have been away. That is why I am far more interested in the two of you."

As the Weitts family waited for the Greengrass's arrival, Grace and Charlotte regaled their grandfather with stories from their semester at Hogwarts.

Charlotte made no mention of the incident involving Mulciber, Jugson, an illegal potion and a cursed dagger; and Grace made no mention of teaching a prodigious second-year student how to fight and defend his mind. Harry did come up in Charlotte's tales, though.

"What do you think of him, my dear?" Giaus asked Charlotte, peering at her with genuine curiosity.

"I like him," she said at once. "He's probably my best friend outside of Daphne. I spend a lot of time with Laine Slater as well, but I get on more naturally with Harry."

"What is he like?"

She thought about that. "A bit quiet until you get to know him, but he's brilliant. Once you actually get close to him, he's witty, helpful, and extremely protective of his friends."

"All exceptional qualities."

They also spoke briefly on the Chamber of Secrets. "I am afraid I can offer no insight," Giaus told his youngest granddaughter, who was looking at him with unmasked hope. "I have read the same myths about Slytherin that you have heard of, but nothing beyond them."

"Harry was found at the scene of one of the attacks, was he not?" Sigmund asked.

"Harry's not the Heir of Slytherin," Charlotte said vehemently.

"Oh, I'm sure of that," Adriana answered with a small smile. "I certainly didn't peg him as the type to go around attacking muggleborns. He seemed far too low key. What I think your father meant was whether he had any insight into the matter?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Most of the school, idiots, the lot of them, think he's guilty, but he couldn't seem to care any less. He's pretty much avoided the whole thing."

The small talk continued for some time before the Greengrass family entered the manor, and the dinner itself began in earnest. All three elder members of the Weitts family inquired after each of the Greengrasses. Daphne and Astoria spent much of their time talking to Charlotte, while Grace divided her time between the two conversations, with about two-thirds of it being diverted to the adults.

When the meal concluded, the adults all stood to exit the room. They had important business to discuss. Charlotte didn't know exactly what it was, but she knew it pertained to Astoria in one way or another. Sitting closest to the man, Charlotte practically leapt out of her chair to pull out her grandfather's and ease the man's rise.

He smiled down at her fondly. "Your kindness is appreciated, if not completely necessary. I am not yet broken, merely a bit battered by time."

"Grandfather," Charlotte asked, her eyes flitting from the old man in front of her to the retreating figures of the other adults.

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart said to pass along his greetings and… to thank him for your last conversation. He said it helped save his life."

Charlotte had never seen anybody look as old as her grandfather did in the seconds after she relayed Lockhart's message. Giaus closed his eyes and didn't speak for nearly twenty seconds. When he finally did, his voice was heavy, tired and significant.

"Pass along my formal thanks to your professor. Tell him that I am very proud of what he has made of himself, and tell him that I know his father would be even more so if he were here to see him now."

Charlotte nodded. "I'm sorry if it brought up any bad memories-"

"It is nothing for you to concern yourself over. The memories still hurt very much, but it was a long time ago now. Just do pay the man the respect he deserves. His father was one of the greatest men I ever knew."

"Yes, Grandfather." Charlotte seemed to hesitate. "Do you think he knows Legilimency?"

"Why is it you ask?"

"He…" she hesitated.

"I am not going to be upset by any reply, Charlotte. I am simply curious."

"He thinks Harry is the Heir of Slytherin. Harry is worried he might try and breach his mind."

"Ah," Giaus paused to think about that. "I think it possible, but not likely. I am sure he knows of it, just as his father did, but like his father, I doubt he ever pursued learning the art itself." Charlotte nodded. "Has your prodigious friend not yet begun instruction in Occlumency?"

"He has. It's hard to tell for sure, but I think he's improving fast. I don't know how though. I have no idea who's teaching him."

"Well, you can set his mind at ease, for I very much doubt the son of Sigmund Lockhart will be making attempts to breach his mind. Now, I must be off, my dear. We have very sensitive business to discuss."

"Grandfather?"

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"Is-is whatever you're planning dangerous? Is Astoria going to be okay?"

Giaus smiled softly down at Charlotte. "It is dangerous in the sense that it is unheard of, but don't worry yourself. Your friend will be perfectly safe. I may have lost some things with age, but my mastery over the beautiful art of magic remains as strong as ever. I shall personally be here to ensure nothing goes wrong."

Charlotte nodded as the man swept from the room. Mastery of magic was one of the things her family sought above all else. And with the past the Weitts family had, they had mastered more of it than perhaps any other family in Britain.

After all, that was to be expected from a family whose motto roughly translated to Sorceries be Power.

* * *

_**December 22, 1992**_

_**The Headmaster's Office**_

_**9:30 AM**_

This really hadn't been Harry's week. There had been the duelling club fiasco, to start, not to mention the attempted frame job by his absolute dickhead of a brother. On top of that, this was about to be the second time in a week that he was sat face to face with Albus Dumbledore. In Harry's opinion, that alone rendered the entire week a failure in his books.

Thankfully, he'd learned to suppress his emotions before that first meeting. Not only would he have inevitably lost his cool and made a complete arse of himself, but he had been fantasizing an awful lot since last June about strangling Dumbledore with his own beard. As beautiful as those images were to play on repeat in his mind, he doubted attempting to make them a reality would end particularly well.

As the gargoyle stepped aside and Harry ascended the stairs leading to Dumbledore's office, all he wanted was balance. Whatever force ruled over his misfortune had decided he had to meet with the old codger twice in a week. He just hoped that in return, that same force allowed this meeting to be short and far less dramatic than the last.

He scowled in disdain as Dumbledore called for him to enter before he had even touched the doorknob and stepped inside. As he eyed the man neutrally, sitting serenely behind his ancient oak desk, Harry wondered whether the Headmaster even realized that oddly ominous habit of his was rude.

"Ah, yes, Harry. Do have a seat, please. I will try not to take up too much of your time, but I have one or two things I would like to cover."

Harry just hoped it had nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets. That was never going to be a pleasant conversation. Not that it would be much better if what Dumbledore wanted to discuss pertained to the accusations levelled upon him by his brother. If it wouldn't have made him look even more guilty, Harry would have already decimated the tosser in some out of the way corridor. It would serve him right.

That entire matter was still concerning. Who had actually managed to convince Charlus to lie about him and how had they done it? His brother was a lot of things. Even though Harry knew Charlus thought he was guilty, he didn't believe his twin would frame him for something else. Pursue a manner in which he could expose Harry if he was the true culprit? Absolutely. But for him to just outright accuse Harry was something that both twins knew was complete and utter bollocks. If Charlus was anything, it was honourable and noble. Neither of those traits lined up well with framing your brother for crimes that he never committed.

"You don't trust me." It wasn't a question. Dumbledore spoke in a soft voice, but it was evidently being modulated.

"Not even a little bit." Harry saw no reason to lie. The man clearly knew it. He was also pretty sure the Headmaster had seen straight through his father's lies in defence of him. If it was out in the open already, there was no need to make it a secret.

Dumbledore nodded. "I suppose I cannot blame you, given your circumstances."

Harry snorted. "You mean how you shipped me off to people who hated me not once, but twice."

Dumbledore frowned. "A bit crude, but not entirely inaccurate, I suppose."

"Exactly accurate, Headmaster."

Dumbledore seemed to ignore that last sentence altogether, which Harry thought to be a wise decision on his part. "Given your feelings towards me, I think it best if I reciprocate your openness with honesty of my own. I frankly don't trust you either, Harry. There is too much about you that screams danger. You are connected to too many suspicious events which seem to tie into even more dastardly schemes."

"My father cleared me of the last thing you accused me of, sir."

"Legally, he did do just that. You will forgive me if I do not entirely buy into what your father was saying. Between the two of us, I have become exceptionally good at reading people and situations."

"Can I speak openly, Headmaster? Can I point out one of the reasons why I don't like nor trust you other than the obvious?" Dumbledore actually looked intrigued and nodded. "You are ridiculously overconfident. You think you're more clever than you actually are. I'm not saying you're not a genius, but being a genius and being clever isn't the same thing. I'm guessing you thought my relatives weren't going to be as bad as they were. You were so sure of this, yet it backfired in your face. Last year, I'm sure you thought there was no way Voldemort would ever get the stone, but she almost did and would have if I hadn't shown up.

"And now you think I'm the Heir of Slytherin. Or you think I'm connected to it somehow. Not only are you wrong on that, but what makes it even worse is that the reason you think this is because of what my brother told you. Which is nothing but lies. You've misread my brother, then you've taken what he told you and misread another situation."

Dumbledore actually seemed to ponder this. "You make several valid points," the old man conceded. "I believe the last two to be half-truths at best, outright lies at worst, but I will take your initial points into consideration in the future." Harry knew he wouldn't. He almost said so. He and the Headmaster seemed to be engaged in a no-holds-barred conversation in which nothing was off-limits. But he decided not to. He had better things to do than partaking in verbal sparring with the chief warlock, and he really wanted to be out of this office as soon as possible.

"That's your opinion, Headmaster. It's wrong, but it's what you think. Just don't say I didn't tell you so when this is all over." Dumbledore didn't rise to his challenge. "Was there anything else you wanted, sir?"

"I wanted to warn you, Harry. If it is you who is opening the Chamber of Secrets, I advise you to stop now, even if I see that admitting to your potential crimes is clearly something you would be unwilling to do. If you are caught later, after openly denying the fact, the results will not be favourable. And rest assured, the perpetrator will be apprehended."

Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. "If I ever work out how to open the Chamber of Secrets, I'll keep that in mind." He paused. "I did have something to tell you while I was here, sir."

"Oh?"

"I'll be using my rights as the heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House to leave the castle at around noon. I'll be heading into Hogsmeade, and flooing to Diagon Alley. I'll return sometime later tonight."

Despite his obvious fondness for lemon drops, Dumbledore suddenly looked as if he had swallowed a particularly sour one. He was clearly displeased. If he suspected Harry as being behind the disappearances, he could see why. Not that Harry particularly cared what Dumbledore thought. He had ruined his life and hadn't exactly shown a great deal of remorse for it during this conversation.

For an insane moment, Harry debated throwing a one-liner in his face about the existence of the prophecy; the one that Voldemort had referred to down in the catacombs at the end of last year. As satisfying as it would doubtlessly be to see the shocked look of incredulity that would inevitably blossom on the Headmaster's aged face, he thought that to be a perilous course of action that almost certainly wasn't worth the potential repercussions.

"Very well." Dumbledore did a stellar job of hiding how annoyed the fact obviously made him, especially when his next words were hardly a choice. It wasn't as if he could refuse Harry. "You are aware, of course, that a return to the castle is mandatory by curfew?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded with a frown. "I worry for you, Harry. I do not approve of the path I believe you to be going down. You are a magical talent the likes of which I have not seen in many years. Please, I beg of you not to squander that beautiful talent by going down a dark path like others who have come before you."

Harry met Dumbledore stare with his own, hard gaze, making one last point before promptly but politely making his exit. "There is no such thing as light and dark, sir. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded."

He had cut the part about good and evil because at the moment, he doubted it would have gone over at all well.

The last thing Harry saw before leaving the office was Dumbledore's mask crack as a modicum of concern made itself obvious on his otherwise impassive visage. It obviously put him off greatly that Harry was paraphrasing, if not completely quoting Emeric the Evil.

* * *

_**That afternoon, at the Greengrass's law firm…**_

Harry didn't trust Dumbledore. Not even a little bit. He could have done the normal thing and walked down to Hogsmeade, but paranoia had insisted he act with more caution. He'd snuck out of the school using the passage that was concealed by the humped back, one-eyed witch on the third floor. After sneaking into the cellar of Honeydukes, it had been all too easy to slide into the Three Broomsticks, pay a measly sum of gold, and vanish into the green flames, only to appear thirty or so seconds later in the Leaky Cauldron. The hardest thing about the journey had been finding the law firm, but it hadn't taken him terribly long.

The lobby was as well-furnished as one would expect when dealing with a place owned by one of the richest pureblood families in the country. The receptionist took Harry's name, checked her register, and confirmed that he did indeed have an appointment booked with his solicitor. Once this had been established, he was led down several hallways and into yet another tastefully-furnished room. This one was obviously an office, and Harry took a comfortable seat on one side of a dark, oak desk.

On the other side of said desk sat the woman whom he assumed to be his solicitor. She was slim and had a pale complexion along with sharp features, dark eyes and jet black hair that fell to around her shoulder blades. When he took his seat, she studied him rather intently for some time before speaking. "I'll admit, I don't usually get clients this young."

Harry shrugged. "First time for everything, I suppose."

"I was surprised when I was signed with you this summer. I was wondering when I might see you. Regardless of your age, I am contractually obligated to assist you." She leaned forward, obviously interested in what the young, estranged Potter Heir could possibly ask for. "So, Heir Potter, what is it I can do for you today?"

Harry reached into a pocket of the travelling cloak he'd worn to the meeting and withdrew a carrying case which he'd ordered by owl.

He placed the plain black case down on Veronica Tate's desk, prompting the woman in question to look at him inquisitively. "I'm assuming whatever is in this has something to do with why you're here?"

"I'm actually here for a couple of things, but this has to do with one of them, yes." Tate gestured as if asking permission to open the box and Harry nodded, prompting her to do just that.

When it had been opened, her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to assume this is a special dagger of some sort?"

"You can't reveal anything I tell you, right? Solicitor's oath of confidentiality and all that."

"Correct."

"Even if it's potentially incriminating?" This seemed to pique Tate's interest, but her only response was a curt nod. "I'm not positive, but I think this dagger was a Mulciber family heirloom of some sort. Let's just say I got into a fight with the family's heir and I ended up with the dagger." Tate indicated she was following along, so Harry continued. "I have a few questions. First of all, is this legal for me to have? Like… is it illegal that I took it from the Mulciber family? Am I going to be forced to give it back to them if anyone finds out I have it?"

"You almost definitely don't have any obligation to give it back to them. I have a feeling this dagger isn't legal to own in general, so they wouldn't have disclosed it to the Ministry. As long as it's not covered under a family charter, you should have no troubles because of that. If it were covered under a charter, the family would have almost certainly released a public statement by now. One that demanded the artifact be returned to them."

He hadn't been sure about the specifics, let alone the parts about family charters, but he had been reasonably sure from his own research on the topic that he was well within his right to forcibly take the dagger. It could technically be classified as theft, but that charge would fly straight out the window as soon as the offences of those whom he stole from came to light, so he was sure it was a charge that would never be levelled against him.

"Okay then, do you have any idea how much this might be worth?"

Contrary to many people put in a similar position, Tate didn't even bat an eye. Apparently, being asked complex legal questions by a twelve-year-old, followed by an expressed desire to learn the estimated value of a dark artifact by the same twelve-year-old wasn't enough to faze her.

"I have no idea. That would depend on a lot of things. I would need to have the blade formally examined. Both to figure out what enchantments might be on it, plus to learn as much as possible about its history." She leaned forward once more. "Is this something you'd like to have done?"

"How much is that going to cost me?" Harry asked carefully.

Tate's lips twitched as if she were fighting back a smile. "It's not a cheap process, but it won't cost you anything."

He blinked. "What?"

"In the contract you signed, it expressly stated that the Greengrass family were to handle any and all legal fees associated with you."

Clearly, Harry needed to get better at reading contracts. All he had taken from the offending documentation was that his base legal fees were covered. This made the whole process much easier, especially when considering his other, and altogether more pressing reason for being here.

"Have that done then, please. Can you owl me as soon as it's done? I'd like to talk about it more once we have actual information." She nodded, and this time, it was his turn to lean forward with a gleam in his eye as they came to the other business that had brought him here. The business that he had planned to attend to for months now.

* * *

_**That night, at Malfoy Manor…**_

Needless to say, the altogether more pressing business had been more complicated as well. As in — a lot more complicated. The two of them had spent several hours discussing the intricacies and complexities of Harry's presented situation and the scenarios that were likely to arise from his desire. Tate had thought his plan viable with some alterations in the end, so it had been a productive day, all things considered.

Thus far, at least. He still had one major bit of business to attend to that day.

Standing in an out of the way alley off of Diagon, Harry eyed the eagle feather quill in his hand. He had never used a portkey before, even though he did of course know what they were. This would be his first time experiencing them, and he very much hoped not to be reduced to a vomiting mess upon his arrival for a meeting that he was quite sure would be very serious in nature.

Hoping for the best, Harry glanced down at the portkey and repeated the activation phrase, one he had needed to practice several times in the past few days to ensure he could pronounce clearly and consistently.

"Sanctimonia Vincet Semper."

Harry did indeed find his first portkey experience to be less than pleasant. Mercifully, it wasn't so disconcerting that he vomited on landing in an overly ostentatious entrance hall that he knew belonged to Malfoy Manor.

The hall had a much darker look than Weitts Manor, which was well lit by a fair share of magical lighting and its white marble aesthetic. The floor in Malfoy Manor, at least in this room, was done in a dark, rich-looking wood. Soft, pale drapings obscured what Harry pictured to be large, glass windows on either side of a somewhat circular staircase that converged in the centre of a balcony on the next floor, which overlooked the entrance hall itself. The pale, cream curtains cast a soft, yet ominous light across the otherwise lowly lit hall. In the relative darkness, the staircase's railings, which were made of what appeared to be pure gold, glinted sinisterly, if such a thing was at all possible for such rich material.

Beneath the staircase, there was a life-sized portrait depicting the current three members of the Malfoy family, noses upturned, heads held high and surrounded by a gilded, ornate frame.

With a pop, the most nervous-looking house-elf Harry had ever seen materialized in front of him. It took him a moment to realize why the creature looked as if it would turn and bolt at any moment. He recognized its tennis ball-like eyes and his own set widened.

Dobby belonged to the Malfoys.

"M-Master Lucius is waiting for Harry Potter up in his study, sir." It was readily apparent that Dobby was terrified. Terrified that Harry would expose him to Lucius there and then.

The thing was, Dobby didn't think like a Slytherin.

The benefits of exposing him were negligible. Harry very much doubted the elf would be making any more attempts at "keeping him safe" any time soon. Plus, what would he really gain from exposing Dobby's misdoings? The elf would be punished, he was sure, but Harry couldn't honestly say he cared much one way or the other. A lesser mind may have exposed him in hopes of getting information out of the interaction, but Harry didn't doubt that any valuable information the elf possessed would be getting no further than the ear of its master.

All of that was true, but it wasn't the primary reason Harry had no intention of exposing the creature. That reason was the fact that obviously, Dobby overheard rather sensitive, potentially important information. He was more likely to gain said information if Dobby slipped up around him in the future. He may not have thought any more interventions from the elf were likely, but he still thought their probability to be higher than that of Lucius Malfoy spilling sensitive information.

There would be no world in which that happened — at least none where the Malfoy patriarch did so voluntarily.

Harry followed the house-elf up to the second floor, noticing that the railings of the balcony were also made of gold. It was perhaps the most Malfoy thing he had ever seen. It was needless, over the top, and blatantly extravagant to the point of being openly braggadocious.

If their heir was anything to go by, it seemed a fairly apt assessment of the family as a whole.

Harry just had to keep in mind that tonight, he wasn't dealing with Draco Malfoy. He was dealing with his father: a political mastermind, economic titan and prominent figure, who was once suspected of being a Death Eater.

A much more dangerous man than his son would likely ever be.

Harry was admitted into the room and took a seat across from Lord Malfoy. He had to admit, as dangerous as this man may have been, it felt rather nice sitting across from an older man, with a well-polished desk in between the two of them and not wanting to strangle the person on the other side. He thought this said a lot about Albus Dumbledore. He was the supposed Lord of the Light, yet Harry was far less wary of one of the Conservative co-leaders, despite the faction's more than shady reputation.

"Heir Potter." Lucius's voice might as well have been silk for how soft and smooth it was. Every syllable was spoken with well-practiced precision.

"Lord Malfoy. Thank you for welcoming me into your home."

"I think it was inevitable that it was going to happen at some point, or so I would like to think. Certain matters simply… expedited the process, and here we are. I am happy to have you, Heir Potter, and I do hope we can reach an agreement of sorts."

That sounded fairly ominous, but Harry chose not to comment.

Instead, he gazed back at Lucius Malfoy with a completely blank expression. "What would you like to discuss, sir?"

Lucius leant back in his chair. "To put it bluntly, Heir Potter, you are the future of your family. For now, the Potters rest firmly in the Liberal camp, as they have for generations. Due to your… unique position, I see a possibility of that not being the case when you one day take your lordship. That may be many years away, but a skillful politician is always looking to expand their circle and form new, strong alliances."

Harry tilted his head. "You're trying to recruit me?"

Lucius smiled thinly. "Certainly not directly. It is far too early for that, I am afraid. So much is still unknown about you. To openly begin recruiting you would be unwise with so much mystery surrounding you. Indirectly, I suppose you could say I am doing something of the sort." He suddenly looked more business-like, and Harry knew that whatever was to come next was the real reason he'd been invited to Malfoy Manor.

"Just as you will one day ascend to the helm of your family, the same could be said for Draco." Lucius seemed to observe him carefully, but Harry gave away nothing by offering a visible reaction. If this perturbed Lucius, he didn't show it. "As much as the time for that may still be very far away, foundations are important. It is essential to build them early. As I have looked deeper and deeper into the events at Hogwarts since you and my son started attending the September before last, I've concluded that your relationship has been far more… antagonistic than I would have liked."

Harry might have worried over such an ominous statement had they not been in Malfoy's home. It was true he had the position of power, but to actually do anything morally questionable would be very foolish on his part. Most of all because currently, Blaise had the letter Lord Malfoy had sent to him inviting Harry to the manor. His solicitor also knew he was here.

He'd toyed with the idea of requesting that Lord Malfoy permit her to join him, but he had eventually decided against it. For one thing, he highly doubted the man would have accepted that condition. For another, it really wasn't that difficult to just agree to nothing today, go see his solicitor before the end of the break and provide her with his memories of the occasion. The Greengrass law firm was armed with a pensieve, after all.

When it became clear that the man sitting in front of him was awaiting a reply, Harry gave the most neutral one he could come up with on the spot. "We've had our disagreements, yes."

Lucius smiled thinly once more. "There's no need to worry, Heir Potter. I have spoken to Draco at length over the past twenty-four or so hours about your relationship. I've concluded that it is, for the most part, my son's foolishness which has sparked the animosity between you."

This surprised Harry, and that evidently showed, for Lucius suddenly looked particularly amused. "Oh, you technically acted first by maneuvering him into the duel against your twin. However, I can admire the cunning. My son blatantly implied how unimportant he thought you were at the welcoming feast. It was an obvious attempt to pollute any political foundations you might have tried to build, and it was about as subtle as a Bludgeoning Hex."

Lucius drummed his fingers rhythmically upon his desk's surface. "Then, the situation was escalated by Draco's attempt at framing your friend, Miss Davis. By this point, I would say the two of you were even, but my son sought to take it a step further with the dragon fiasco. I was more than a little bit cross to pay your father that gold, but in truth, it was my son's ineptitude that annoyed me most.

"This year, he has repeatedly failed to get the hints you have sent his way, hints which are less subtle than even his initial ploy against you." He fixed Harry with a cold, grey-eyed stare. "I do not support your attack of my son in the common room. If it happens again, I will be much more interested in taking action. However, he was forewarned and suffered the consequences.

"All of this is to say that your relationship has been less than ideal. As standing Lord of House Malfoy, the duty of repairing the damage done by my heir falls upon my shoulders. That is what I called this meeting for, Heir Potter. I would like to mend the damage my heir has done in potentially securing an alliance much further down the road. I am unsure of exactly how to do this, but it is something I would like to do as soon as possible. If you have any ideas on how this might be accomplished, I'm all ears. If you need to think about the matter and get back to me at a later date, that is also perfectly acceptable."

Whatever Harry had expected, this wasn't it.

Much like he had done with Tate earlier that day, he leaned forwards. He wouldn't agree to anything today, and there were compensations he was sure Tate could help him acquire, but he had some ideas to get things started with.

* * *

_**Later that night, at the Royal London Hospital…**_

It was late, and all was quiet in one of London's premier hospitals. The patients were asleep, much of the staff was at home, and those still present were quietly going about their obliged business.

In one, specific hallway somewhere within the hospital in question, nobody was present at all, and there was no sound whatsoever that would be discernible to the human ears.

That wasn't to say there was none at all.

If somebody had superhuman hearing, they might have been able to pick up the sound of a small, grey rodent moving quickly down the hall, not stopping until it reached a specific door. The rat just stood there and surveyed the door, frantically sniffing all the while. If one was watching, they might think that the rat in question was actually doing reconnaissance, like they were some well-disguised spy from some overdramatized movie. Of course, a person would only think this if they were extremely short on common sense. Rats couldn't do the same level of reconnaissance as a human.

Not normal rats, anyway.

This rat was far from normal, as was made evident when it suddenly wasn't a rat at all.

In its place stood a short man with watery blue eyes and sharp features who withdrew a long stick of wood from the pocket of what appeared to be a robe and pointed it at the door he now stood before.

"Alohomora."

The lock clicked and Peter Pettigrew pushed the door open, stepping inside quietly, wand at the ready.

There was nobody inside.

Nobody alive, anyway.

There was a large cooler that dominated most of the room. One that was clearly locked from the outside. Peter knew that without magic, he would have no chance of ever unlocking it unless he had a very specific key.

Thankfully, he was not without magic.

"Alohomora."

The cooler unlocked with as much ease as the door. Peter locked and warded the latter with several waves of his wand before making his way towards the former. He knew, from the intel he'd gathered, that there was a body he was very interested in examining locked within that cooler.

The body of one Vernon Dursley.

Pettigrew very much suspected foul play, but there was only one way to find out.

Sometime later, after ensuring the muggles wouldn't detect his presence at a later date, he was back outside the hospital, standing on the streets of London as he pondered what to do next.

It had indeed been the Killing Curse that had slain the eldest Dursley. That much had been obvious. Despite doing his utmost to gather clues, Peter hadn't managed to gain any ideas as to who might have been responsible for killing the man.

Which meant Peter had some loose ends which very badly needed to be tied up.

It would be utterly disastrous if certain individuals who were obviously interested in the situation realized that, many years earlier, Peter had placed several compulsions on the two elder Dursleys. Compulsions which would lead them to be particularly cruel to their then one-year-old nephew.

Yes, that would be very bad indeed. Peter couldn't allow that possibility to come to fruition. With a thoughtful expression and the swishing of a cloak, Peter Pettigrew vanished into the night.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Since I know this will come up and there was no good way to address it in this chapter, let me answer this before I get a dozen or so reviews on it, stating that I overlooked something.**

**Why didn't Dumbledore find Peter's compulsions on the Dursleys? The memory charm is a wonderful thing. If you remember correctly, he didn't dig as deep as he could have into the Dursleys' minds. He specified that he could have broken the Memory Charms placed on them by the Greengrasses, but he chose not to because the process would be… unpleasant. The same is true of Peter's Memory Charm. The difference is that Dumbledore never even noticed because he was so focused on the most recent one. If he had broken that, he would have noticed the second one immediately.**

**In other news, the next audiobook chapter is now up on YouTube! It was posted on Spotify and Apple Music earlier this week! The link can be found on my profile, and I encourage you all to check it out.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, November 14, 2020.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Ashabel, Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope and neilabh for their contributions/corrections this week!**

**An additional shoutout is extended to Wakefan from my Discord server for the chapter title, as voted on by my Discord members. Thank you to any and all who voted in the poll!**


	41. SS Ch 23: Party Crashers

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 23: Party Crashers**

* * *

_**December 23, 1992**_

_**A Gas Station on the Way to Surrey**_

_**8:45 AM**_

Marjorie Dursley had perhaps been having the worst holiday season she could ever remember. Not that she had ever really liked the holidays. In her opinion, they were a pathetic excuse for massive, corrupt corporations to become even wealthier, and for parents to spoil their insufferable children, most of whom didn't deserve half of what they inevitably would be receiving in just two days' time.

The fact that her mother had died during the holidays whilst she and Vernon had been teens hadn't helped her develop positive feelings for the holiday.

Yet this season truly took the cake.

She'd never gotten on particularly well with her mother anyway, truth be told. Vernon, on the other hand, had been somebody who she had gotten on very well with since they were children. Marge Dursley did not cry. She was a strong, independent woman who would never dream of doing anything so undignifying. But when the tragic news of Vernon's sudden passing had reached her… well, her eyes may have been a bit watery.

Now she was on her way to Surrey to meet up with her favourite- and only- nephew and his mother, Petunia. This had been planned for months. She came to Privet Drive every few Christmases, and had for years. She may have despised most children, but not Dudley. He had been raised well in her opinion, and he was a lovely boy who she couldn't help but spoil, at least a little bit. What hadn't been pre-planned was that now, while at Privet Drive, she would be attending Vernon's funeral, to be held sometime in the next week or two.

Currently, she was stopped for gas. It was a fairly long drive to Surrey, after all. She would normally have taken the train, but with Vernon dead and Petunia not having a license, it was really just easier to drive. Of course, she could take a cab from the station to Privet Drive, but lowering herself to such standards wasn't something she would be caught dead doing.

All of that was to say that while stopped at this gas station off the main highway, Marge had wanted to grab herself some snacks for the way, and she'd taken a quick break to use the facilities while in the process.

This was all normal.

What wasn't so normal was what happened next.

As she exited the building and headed back out towards her vehicle, she couldn't help but notice she was being tailed by a grey rat. In the middle of the bleeding winter, nonetheless. She tried to shoo it away, but it was having none of it. She climbed quickly into her vehicle, but the blasted thing followed her in before she could close the heavy door.

Marge didn't scream, as she considered it beneath her to do so, but she did make a few wild swings for the thing before it scampered up into the passenger's seat. Before she could swing again, her jaw nearly became detached from her face, as shock pulled it forcefully towards the floor.

Suddenly sitting beside her wasn't a rat at all, but an average-looking man with watery blue eyes. What was weirder was that, before she could get a word in, the man had an odd piece of wood pointed at her. And then, he said one, strange word, and Marge suddenly thought no more.

"Imperio!"

* * *

_**Forty-five minutes later, in the Headmaster's office...**_

Yesterday, Harry had thought his luck to be absolutely miserable. Having to deal with Dumbledore twice in a week had been bad enough. Now, exactly a day later, Harry was wondering what he had done wrong in life to deserve two meetings with the Hogwarts Headmaster in twenty-four hours, let alone three in the past week. Seriously, there were few places on earth Harry wanted to be less than here, let alone with such a high degree of frequency.

He wondered, as he ascended the familiar spiral staircase once more, what it was that Dumbledore wanted with him this time. The previous day, the meeting had been set up so that the man could press Harry in regards to the Chamber of Secrets. It had actually turned into a shockingly candid and open conversation between the two of them, but it had still been a warning of sorts. Similar to the one that Lockhart had issued about a month ago, if a bit more subtle.

As far as Harry was aware, he hadn't done anything in the past twenty-four hours that would be worthy of Dumbledore's attention. Well, that wasn't true; he'd done several things that the man would doubtlessly be more than a little bit interested in. He'd done nothing in the past day that Dumbledore knew about that would be of interest to the man. The difference was that the things he had done of interest, Dumbledore was blissfully unaware of, hence this meeting couldn't have anything to do with them.

So it had to be something else from the past, and Harry couldn't fathom why the man would demand his presence. Unless the old twat really was just that bored. Perhaps he realized exactly how much his presence grated on Harry and wanted to amuse himself by being a sadist. Harry personally didn't think it his style, but he wouldn't put it past him either.

When he entered the office, he knew immediately that wasn't the case. The air was heavy with tension. Not as serious as the day Dumbledore had tried to authorize a search of his belongings, but heavy in a different sort of way. This meeting was clearly significant, but Harry was just yet to realize exactly how that was the case.

"Good morning, Harry."

"Headmaster."

"Do you have an idea why I may have called you to my office this morning?" Dumbledore's lips twitched. "I am sure the fact grates on you, more so considering the relatively short amount of time since our last meeting."

Yes, Harry certainly would consider twenty-four hours a relatively short amount of time. This man and his damn understatements. "No, sir. Not unless you want to talk about the same things as we did yesterday, but I think both of us realize that would be a pointless conversation."

Dumbledore dipped his head in agreement. "It would be, yes. I am a rather busy man, and I did not call you into my office simply for the sake of annoying you. I may openly not trust you, but I do not outright dislike you, Harry. Even if I did, I would like to think of myself as a citizen of rather high moral standing, and above such petty actions."

Harry's eye twitched, but he made no move to comment. What was the admittedly naive cliche his teachers had always preached in primary school? Treat others how you wanted to be treated? No, that wasn't right. If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all — yes, that was it.

Dumbledore obviously realized Harry's lack of patience, for he decided to break the news quickly and cease his mindless meandering around the point. "There has been a rather significant development which involves you at least indirectly."

Harry didn't so much as bat an eye. Of course there was. His year of staying low key really had not been going to plan thus far. "Which is?"

"Last night, an acquaintance of mine discovered something rather… troubling. Something that I was not aware of prior to that point."

Dumbledore glanced at him intently, and Harry knew he was watching for any minute reaction. Whatever he was about to say next wasn't going to be anything Harry could logically dismiss, and the old man was watching him like a hawk, trying to glean any slip-up the young Slytherin may make. Harry reinforced the control he now had over his emotions. Said slip-up wasn't going to happen, no matter what Dumbledore chose to reveal next.

"Last night," he began, "I was informed that your uncle, Vernon Dursley, was found dead in his car."

Silence rang through the room. As he had promised himself, Harry's face gave away nothing, aside from perhaps a minor widening of his eyes. Internally, his mind was reeling. There was a lot to digest in that loaded statement. How Vernon had died was the most obvious. He was certainly overweight and he wasn't the healthiest man alive, but as far as Harry knew, there was nothing life-threatening in play that might have posed him any problems.

Above all else, Harry had absolutely no idea how he felt about that. It circled back to his problem, that being that he was completely inept with emotions of any kind. He certainly had no love for Vernon Dursley. He wouldn't be crying over his corpse, nor would he have attended his funeral- if hell had frozen over and he had somehow been invited, that is. Yet, he didn't think he'd celebrate his Uncle's death, either.

The man was a horrible person, Harry was sure of that. No decent human being abused a child. Especially not in the way Vernon had done, even going as far as to encourage his own son, Dudley, to join in on the "fun".

Maybe he should have felt compassion for his cousin. It hadn't really been Dudley's fault, after all. He'd acted exactly how he had been raised to. He was nothing more than a byproduct of his parents. Rationally, Harry knew that, yet he couldn't will himself to feel empathy for Dudley nor Petunia Dursley. He didn't forgive them for anything, even if he had long ago decided he wouldn't be making their downfall a priority. What he had told Daphne over a year ago still very much held true.

He had let go of any emotions pertaining to that family a very long time ago. He didn't care what happened to them, one way or another.

He internalized all of this very quickly with the help of Occlumency and came to the realization that the fact hadn't changed. The truth of the matter was the news meant nothing to him. He was never going back to Privet Drive. Steps had been taken to ensure it wouldn't have happened anyway. He had no connection whatsoever to Vernon. They weren't even technically related by blood. He didn't care about the other two members of the Dursley family either, despite the fact that, in some capacity, his blood ran in their veins, and vice versa.

"I'm… not sure how I'm supposed to respond to that, sir," Harry answered after a time.

Dumbledore looked pensive. "You don't seem particularly upset."

Harry just stared back at him hollowly. "I'm not going to pretend I'm something that I'm not, Headmaster. I'm not happy he's dead, but I don't really care much either."

"The fact does not discomfort you? He was family, after all."

"He was no family of mine." It was a significant statement that was further exacerbated by the rather dark tone Harry used to state the sentence. "Nobody who treats me like that man did is family." There was a long pause. "Surely you don't think I'm responsible for this too?"

"I very highly doubt it," Dumbledore admitted. "It is very possible that somebody may have acted on your behalf, whether they did so with or without you knowing I could not say. What troubles me more than anything is your lack of a reaction."

"He made my life a living hell. I could show you the scars if you really wanted."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I believe you, Harry. I did my own investigations into the matter. That does not change the fact that he was your family." Dumbledore took a long pause. "Do you know what, above all else, makes me uneasy when thinking about you?"

Against his better judgement, Harry suddenly found himself intensely interested in how Dumbledore might answer that question. "I have no idea, sir."

"You remind me of another very strongly. They too were a prodigy among prodigies and had many accolades to their name at an early age. Their father died the summer between their fifth and sixth year, and the fact had as little effect on them as the death of Vernon Dursley had on you."

"I'm taking it you didn't like this person very much."

"This person grew into the monster that would one day terrorize Britain."

Harry's eyes widened despite all attempts to keep his expression neutral. "Voldemort? That's who you're talking about?"

Dumbledore raised a brow at the usage of the Dark Lady's name, but he didn't comment on it. "Incidentally, I am, yes."

"You think I'm going to become the next Voldemort just because we had the same reaction to a somewhat similar event?"

"I do not think you are going to become the next Voldemort. That is not what I said, nor will the words ever leave my lips. I am simply making an interesting comparison to show why I am mildly distrustful of you, among other reasons. On its own, the fact wouldn't be nearly enough, but compounded with other things, it does make an old man think."

He fixed Harry with his blue-eyed stare. "And there is far more about you that reminds me of Lady Voldemort than your lack of empathy towards those of your own family. It would simply be unwise to inform you of these things, less you begin hiding them to the best of your abilities. Least of all now, when you are rapidly progressing as an Occlumens. I do congratulate you on your progress, despite any suspicions I may hold towards you, by the way. It is an impressive achievement for one so young to progress through the art, let alone at the rate I believe you to be improving at." As he gestured to end the meeting, he got one final word in as Harry made for the door, nothing left to say to the old man who seemed to be set in his ways.

"Another comparison between the two of you, in fact…"

* * *

_**Later that day, at Number 4, Privet Drive…**_

When Marge arrived at Privet Drive that night, the atmosphere was far more somber than anything Dudley Dursley had ever experienced. His father had been dead for less than forty-eight hours, and the boy wasn't taking it well.

Neither was his mother, which was why he had persistently asked to be allowed to stay over at a friend's. He'd been denied, primarily because Aunt Marge was coming over that night. She had indeed arrived, but Dudley couldn't help but think something was… off about her.

Perhaps it was just the death of his father, her brother, that had thrown her off-kilter, but she didn't fawn over him the way she would normally do. Nor did she drink herself stupid the first night at dinner. That was particularly unfortunate, for that was usually when Dudley managed to convince her to make rather bold, rather expensive promises.

Hell, she had even convinced his mother to send him off to bed early!

Dudley had no idea what the hell was going on, but he didn't like it! Not even a little bit.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Speaker's Den…**_

"I had honestly wondered if you'd forgotten about this place," Blaise remarked as the two of them took the chairs nearest the ostentatious throne situated at the head of the table.

Harry snorted. "How could I have ever forgotten about this place? Let's just ignore my memory altogether."

Blaise shrugged. "It's been a while. We haven't used it once this year."

"That's because I think Weitts knows about it."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"I have no idea, which is sort of the problem. She shouldn't be able to know the password or get in, but who knows. It's Weitts; I wouldn't put it past her." He'd actually been forced to change the password earlier that day before he could let Blaise in. He'd changed it to Parseltongue some time ago, but he could hardly hiss in front of one of his friends. That would draw questions and a lot of attention.

"So that's why you've been avoiding it, is it? We did see her lurking around the entrance, but we thought she might have just picked up on some sort of magic."

"I don't think she knows exactly what's here," Harry mused. "The only time she hinted at it, she mentioned something along the lines of a hidden place. I think she knows there's some kind of room here. Best I can tell, she hasn't worked out a way to get in yet."

Blaise looked thoughtful. "Is it possible for her to get in without the password? Or any other entrances?"

"No clue to both of those. If there are other entrances, I haven't found them, but that doesn't mean much. I haven't explored the dungeons at all this year, really."

He suddenly realized what a lapse that was on his part. Truthfully, he hadn't done much exploring at all since returning to the castle in September, despite knowing there was still much of the dungeons to uncover. They stretched deeper than the room he practiced in with Grace, and that wasn't even mentioning the five or so branching corridors on the way that he had thus far ignored completely.

"She might not even need another entrance," Blaise said reasonably. "I have no idea about the kind of wards that are on this place, but do you think she could maybe break them."

"I doubt it," Harry said thoughtfully. "Any room that could force anybody inside of it to keep a secret, just because somebody says so, must have some very powerful magic attached to it. That and if the books have anything to say on the matter, this place is warded to the teeth. They don't think any Headmaster or Headmistress who wasn't a Slytherin has ever found it. At least not at the time most of them were left here."

"Are these all journals or something?" Blaise gestured towards the shelves that surrounded the two

"A bit of everything. It seems like it was tradition for everybody who found this place to leave at least one book behind. Some left textbooks, some left journals, some left family tomes. I haven't read most of them yet. Just the more interesting stuff that I can actually understand."

Blaise nodded. "Alright, the possibility of being discovered seems like a decent reason to ignore this place for the year. I assume you'll be using it more next year when Weitts is gone?"

"Probably. I've still been using it a bit. I have the ring, it's not that hard for me to sneak in here using that."

"But harder to sneak others in with you."

"Exactly."

Blaise nodded. "We might have to find a way around that at some point. Anyway, was there anything specific you dragged me in here for? I doubt you'd have bothered if you just wanted to play chess."

"Beat you at chess, you mean?'

Blaise just rolled his eyes.

The two of them smirked at each other before Harry took on a more serious look. "Dumbledore thinks I'm the one opening the Chamber of Secrets."

Blaise whistled. "Yup, that's a pretty good reason for meeting in private."

"I thought so."

"You are just blessed with the most desirable luck in the world, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't give it up for anything."

Blaise leaned back languidly in his seat. Harry thought his Italian friend may be the most talented person he knew at conveying superiority through posture alone. Daphne and Charlotte were both quite good at it, but Blaise was really something else altogether.

"Is he actually going to do anything about it?"

Harry scowled. "Are you ready for this to get even more complicated?"

Blaise's lips twitched. "Naturally."

"Apparently, Charlus gave him some long story about how I'd been convincing him to learn dark magic, so it was obviously all my fault when he went about it the wrong way, which led to him snapping at the Duelling Club meeting. The bastard even damn near got me for owning an illegal book."

Blaise looked thoughtful once more. "That's… oddly specific."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, was it deliberate?"

"Of course it was! I never taught the git anything."

"I meant the book. Trying to frame you for it."

"Oh… it must have been. He gave a specific title and everything. Said I had a copy and gave one to him as well. The first part is actually true, even if the second part is rubbish."

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "Well then, there is a very important question you need to ask yourself. I have no idea how you haven't come to this already."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Don't take this the wrong way. You're an absolute genius, but you miss some very obvious things sometimes. I think it's because you always look for the most complicated solution to things, but sometimes, it's actually right in front of you the entire time."

Reflecting on some of the more obvious things he'd missed while at Hogwarts- his brother being a Parselmouth, in particular- Harry thought that statement may have had some weight to it. "Okay, you're probably right, but what exactly am I missing, oh wise one?"

"Have you ever asked yourself how the hell your brother knew you had that book?"

Harry actually smacked a hand to his forehead, muttering obscenities under his breath- and amusing his friend to no end in the process. "I am such an idiot!"

"No, you're a genius who suffers from the same thing a lot of geniuses do. You overlook the simple, obvious facts because you're more worried about looking deeper into everything." Blaise paused. "So, do you have any idea how your brother could have even known you had that book?"

Harry had an idea, but wasn't sure about the logistics. Pettigrew knew he had the book. To his knowledge, Pettigrew was the only one who knew he had the book. If he'd given Charlus the same one, it wouldn't be too difficult to set up the ploy. But again, the issue of Charlus's nobility muddied the waters. Harry blocked out all else with Occlumency as he focused hard on the situation at hand, examining it from every conceivable angle. As much as his twin obviously detested him, Harry thought him too morally rigid to outright frame him.

Unless…

His eyes widened as a horrible possibility made itself present in his mind. "Whatever you just came up with," Blaise said dryly, "it is not going to be pleasant, is it?"

"Pettigrew," Harry muttered, his mind still trying to put everything together.

Blaise now looked even more intrigued. "He's a friend of your father's, isn't he? Detective for the DMLE, or something?"

"As far as I know, yeah, but it's the first one that might be important."

"Oh?"

"The only person who knows I had that book was Pettigrew. He was the one who gave it to me after the gala on my birthday. If he gave Charlus a copy, he could have set something up, but I doubt Charlus would have gone along with it."

"So you think he did something to him? Altered his memories, or used the Imperius Curse, or blackmailed him, or something else?"

"I can't think of any other way this makes sense." It annoyed him greatly that the solution he'd come to seemed so extreme. Yet it was the only thing that would have worked. "The thing I don't get though is why. I mean, I've always gotten a weird feeling around Pettigrew, but this? This is a major thing to just go ahead and do. If he was going to do something like this, he would have needed a very good reason, right?"

"You would certainly think so," Blaise agreed thoughtfully. "Getting you expelled from Hogwarts doesn't really seem like a big enough prize though, does it?"

"Not on its own," Harry mused thoughtfully. "But… if he could get me for a major offense…" His eyes widened once more. "Oh… fuck!" Blaise looked at him attentively, obviously awaiting exposition on whatever Harry had just deduced.

"When all of that happened, plus the whole thing with the twins and my brother being outed as a Parselmouth, Dumbledore thought I was the heir. He was going to have my belongings searched and everything, try and find evidence."

"You think Pettigrew might have been trying to frame you as the Heir of Slytherin?"

"It's possible. He would at least have gotten me busted for everything in my trunk I'm not supposed to own."

Harry actually wondered how that would have worked. Nobody would have been able to enter his trunk, seeing as it was protected by a Parseltongue password. Though he supposed Aurors or Cursebreakers could have bypassed the wards.

"But why?" Blaise asked. "I mean, yes, it makes sense, but I still don't see a motive. If he's friends with your father, why would he want you expelled from Hogwarts?"

Harry could only think of one answer, and the very thought of it caused his stomach to contract and his pulse to quicken. "If I'm charged with a major offence, I can be disowned from the Potter family."

Now, Blaise's eyes widened. "And this whole Chamber of Secrets business would have a pretty good chance of being classed as a major offence."

Suddenly, a jarring possibility made itself known, and Harry had to maintain a firm grip on his Occlumency to not let emotion show on his face. He did trust Blaise, and he had told him a great deal tonight, but this… Harry wasn't sure about this.

"I… don't know."

Harry didn't think he'd fooled Blaise, but his friend didn't press. He knew Harry was a private person, and he had learned far more than he'd likely expected to that night.

"Do keep me informed if you come to any other realizations."

"I will." He hesitated. "Do you mind if I make sure none of this leaves the room?"

Blaise shook his head. "You would be an idiot not to," he said bluntly. "Does it work with information that's already been shared?

"If the books I read about it last year are right, then I think so. Don't ask me how that works, because I have no idea."

Blaise scratched his head. "I have no idea either, but whatever it is, it is ridiculously illegal."

"Does it matter?"

"Not even a little bit. Go on, my friend."

Harry took a deep breath. "I, Harry James Potter, rising member of Salazar's noble house, hereby call upon my newly forged connection with the greatest of the Hogwarts four and the legacy which he has left behind. In doing so, I hereby invoke Salazar's Sanction upon the Speaker's Den. As magic is my witness."

Both Harry and Blaise felt the magics settle in, and Harry felt the stress he hadn't even realized he'd been experiencing lift.

That conversation had escalated much further than he had planned, but by Merlin it had been productive.

Terrifying in its implications, but productive nonetheless.

* * *

_**That night, back at Privet Drive...**_

Petunia Dursley was not a heavy sleeper. In her waking hours, she enjoyed few things more than eavesdropping on just about anybody possible. This meant that she was constantly alert and on edge at pretty much all times. This extended to her sleeping hours as well, which meant she was usually awoken fairly easily in the middle of the night.

Sometime about twenty-four hours before the calendar would officially declare it Christmas Day in England, this was proven true when the slight creek of her bedroom door opening unexpectedly caused Petunia to stir, even if only a little.

Not that being awake was any advantage. Nor that it would save her, even if she were far more cognitive than she was at present.

Petunia knew very quickly that something was wrong, even before she noticed the figure moving swiftly towards her. She tried to get up but wasn't fast enough. She was grabbed and easily wrestled back down into the bed, effortlessly pinned flat to its surface by the much larger figure who was now atop her, staring down with familiar eyes.

"Marge?" Petunia gasped, unable to comprehend what was happening. She struggled, but it was to no avail. Petunia may have been tall, but she was very thin, and only about half the size of the woman who currently had her pinned her down. A woman who, with her immense size, likely would have given most men a run for their money.

Marge didn't answer Petunia's plea. Nor did she even truly hear it. She had only one thought, one objective to accomplish, and she quickly sought to do just that.

To the horror of Petunia, pinned helplessly underneath her, Marge wrapped her large, purple hands tightly around Petunia's throat. Her stranglehold on the dying woman was so tight that her son, Dudley, never heard a thing. He would simply awake the next morning, on Christmas eve, no less, to find himself not only without a father, but without a mother as well.

If Marge thought her holiday season had been miserable, then Dudley's had been truly catastrophic.

* * *

_**December 25, 1992**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**7:00 AM**_

As had been the case last year, Harry and Cassius awaited the Carrow twins in the common room near the fire. The only difference was that this year, Blaise joined them, as did Ginny. As the four of them made idle chit chat while they waited for their older set of female friends, Harry wondered exactly how Cassius, who would normally be described rather generously as a zombie on most mornings, managed to be so chipper on Christmas.

Perhaps the day truly was magical.

Eventually, the Carrow twins did enter the room, and the group collectively dug into their piles of presents.

Harry first opened the number of tokenry gifts from most of his classmates. This year, the Slytherin Quidditch team all sent him presents as well, which was a welcome surprise. He knew he should have expected that. The problem was, when one was trained to expect the worst for ten out of their twelve years of life, doing anything but that was a rather difficult habit to break.

The highlight of these gifts was a rather stunning watch of pure gold from the Malfoy family, one that seemed far too expensive for their current situation. At least if one didn't consider the ongoing negotiations between Harry and Lucius.

Once he was through that pile, Harry got to the more interesting of his gifts.

Pansy sent Harry a frankly absurd number of well-designed, rather expensive looking wizarding clothes. Evidently, she had realized his wardrobe wasn't exactly expansive and according to Hestia, the Parkinsons owned stakes in several major fashion companies. Speaking of the Carrows, they had once more come together on a gift. They'd purchased him a number of runestones, something Harry was rather impressed with since they also weren't cheap.

"You've been studying runes for months now," Flora had pointed out. "If you're not ready to use these yet, you better be soon."

"But don't set permanent ones," Hestia advised. "If you set permanent wards inside of Hogwarts, Dumbledore will be alerted, since he's master of the wards."

Harry's brow furrowed. "How does that work? Why do temporary wards not show up?"

"Because temporary wards don't have to co-exist with the Hogwarts ones for a definite period of time," Hestia explained. "Permanent ones do, so they're viewed as a disruption. Not because they actually affect the Hogwarts wards in most cases, because they don't. It's just sort of a built-in protection. Some of the more well-warded manors in the country probably have something similar."

Harry glanced meaningfully from Hestia to Blaise. He wanted to ask a question, but Blaise technically wasn't privy to the information. Hestia shrugged. "If you trust him, go ahead. If he goes and runs his mouth, it's on you."

"My lips are sealed," Blaise promised with an upward twitch of his lips.

"Didn't you and Calypso set up permanent wards in the room we're training in? You even needed my blood."

"That… is an exception," Hestia said carefully. "Let's just say we had a lot of help from Calypso's dad and leave it at that. There is… a very obscure weakness that her dad knew of and helped us to exploit. I doubt any Hogwarts student could have done it." She hesitated. "Except maybe Weitts. I'm not sure what level she's at, but she might have been able to, even though she definitely wouldn't have known about the weakness to exploit it in the first place."

That was rather cryptic, but interesting nonetheless.

The next gift he opened was Daphne's and he couldn't help but quirk a brow. "Hestia?" he asked carefully.

"Yes?"

"Any magic involving blood is illegal, right?"

"Very. It's an entire branch of magic literally called Blood Magic. The entire practice has been banned outright." She paused. "Except for signing magical contracts in blood. That's just sort of deemed as necessary, so they overlook it."

Yes, so this was definitely illegal.

It was a journal- not unlike the one that Voldemort had given him and which he mostly used to communicate with Emily. Though that was true, he only used the first page for that. All of the other pages could be used for notes, and more would add themselves as needed.

This notebook also had that function, though it required blood to open after Harry keyed it to his own.

Basically, nobody could get into it if they weren't him.

He looked at the note and had to fight down a blush as sudden warmth rushed into his chest.

_Harry,_

_Like I told you after Samhain, you are a genius. I've seen you looking into Arithmancy and Runes. One day, I know you're going to start creating your own spells. You're too curious and clever not to. I also have no doubt those spells will be amazing. I know you though. You like your secrets; you're a very private person and don't trust easily. _

_That thought was what made me think of this as a gift, but it can be used for anything. Mind you, you need a drop of blood to open it every time, so maybe don't use it for everything, but I thought it might come in handy._

_Happy Christmas!_

_Daphne_

Wow… that could be useful, even though he had the book from Voldemort, though Daphne didn't know that. He wondered idly whether that one had protections on it as well. Certainly nothing like this, but it had been Voldemort who'd enchanted it. Weakened by a less than ideal form or not, Harry would have expected something similar on her book. Perhaps hers had just been so subtle he hadn't even realized it existed.

After a few more gifts that weren't quite as notable from various friends, Harry opened Blaise's to find a rather glorious set of duelling robes. Also not a cheap purchase. "Cheers, mate!"

Blaise smiled knowingly. "I thought you might enjoy them."

Daphne had obviously told her parents he was interested in Runes. They had sent him several obscure books on the topic, plus top of the line carving equipment.

Some temporary wards, like the one Harry used to detect if anyone was drawing near, could simply be traced out in the air and willed into action through magic. This only worked for the most basic of wards though, and they would only last for a very limited amount of time unless re-cast. If one wanted to cast more complex wards that were either permanent or longer-lasting, they would actually need to carve them into place.

Runestones would also be needed if they wanted to be made permanent, but he just so happened to have some of those as well now.

Where he would practice that, he had no idea. Hogwarts apparently didn't work, and he very much doubted the Weitts family- or whomever he ended up with in the summer- would let him practice setting permanent wards.

Speaking of, the Weitts family had sent him a rather advanced book on Transfiguration. It seemed above his level at the moment, but the note attached encouraged him to give it a try and have patience. It promised results. Knowing the family that it had come from, Harry would tentatively take their word for it and do just that. Charlotte had gone a similar route, though the book she sent was on Arithmancy. He suspected both books to be from the Weitts family library. Not family magic, but still rather humbling nevertheless that they would trust him with anything out of their collection. It caused the same feeling of warmth from earlier to resurface once more.

With two gifts left, Harry reached for the nearest one. It was from Calypso, and it too was quite obviously a book. He had expected a spellbook. That was her style. What he saw instead intrigued and impressed him far more. The book actually seemed quite new, and it was written in an elegant script. Harry had a feeling it was a Rosier family book. Perhaps a copy of one, but still…

It apparently outlined, contrasted, and analyzed the fighting styles of history's most prominent magic users.

This… this was priceless, and Harry could hardly believe Calypso would send him anything like this. He wondered whether or not her father was aware that she had, but eventually decided that he really didn't want to know.

Yet as amazing as her gift was, his final one topped it.

A splendid, golden chain uncoiled from the package and Harry almost gasped at its beauty. It was made mostly of gold, but a silver serpent was embroidered on the pendent, and its eyes, which stood out vividly, were clearly made from diamonds.

But its beauty wasn't what entranced him.

That would be the note attached to it.

_Harry,_

_This isn't just because I still feel guilty over the horrible Legilimency accident, but I do still feel like I owe you for that._

_We should be more than even after this, I think._

_This chain is enchanted with a one of a kind spell that is very secretive Weitts family magic. I can't really explain how it works or how to cast it because of that, but I will explain what it does._

_You will use a drop of your blood to activate its password feature, and then you will choose a password._

_From that point on, the password will trigger an effect. When given, the chain will unleash an impenetrable darkness spell similar to Peruvian instant darkness powder. The darkness is complete and basically impenetrable, but you and only you will be able to see through it as if it wasn't there at all._

_You do need to have time to speak the password, so mid duel would be a bit tricky, but after being in your mind, I know better than anybody how you feel about being helpless. I felt like I owed you, and I hope this helps you avoid any situations where you feel that in the future, as I hope for our lessons._

_Try not to get caught using this by anybody with authority, because that would be a nightmare._

_I hope you enjoy your Christmas and I will see you on New Years._

_All the best,_

_Grace_

Damn!

Harry wasn't sure if Grace had enchanted this herself, but something told him she had. Especially seeing as it was Weitts family magic.

His perception of how talented Grace was changed instantly. He knew that she was good. A prodigy, even. But exactly how good was she?

Maybe she hadn't topped the Dark Lady's gift from exactly one year ago, but the not yet Hogwarts graduate had certainly given her a run for her money.

* * *

_**Later that day, in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor…**_

"So," Hermione was saying to Ron and Charlus, hidden away in the bathroom they had monopolized for much of the last month, "we all know the plan?"

The boys nodded. "You've got your hair already," Charlus started. "Ron and I still have to go and get ours from Crabbe and Goyle. Hide the bodies in a closet or something after they're stunned, or bound, or whatever. Then, we come back here and get this show on the road."

"Still think it would have worked better if we used your brother's closer friends," Ron grumbled.

"The only ones still here are either older students or Zabini," Hermione said exasperatedly. It was an argument they'd had several times. "None of us would be able to overpower the older students, and Zabini hasn't left Potter's side for a second."

"It's the best we can do," Charlus said resolutely, setting his jaw with determination. "We'll have to make it work."

* * *

_**Minutes later, in the Slytherin common room…**_

Harry watched on as Blaise continued to lose tremendously to Hestia in a game of wizarding chess. It wasn't that his friend was no good, he just picked the worst people to try and play against. Seriously, he never had a chance against Hestia.

"Any time now," Blaise muttered as he waited for the older girl to make her next move. Hestia might have taken it as a challenge, but Harry understood his true meaning and nodded discreetly.

The common room entrance took that exact moment to open up, allowing the hulking figures of Crabbe and Goyle to waddle their way inside. Harry and Blaise exchanged brief glances as Malfoy's two goons made their way towards Harry's group of friends.

"Evening Crabbe, Goyle," Harry greeted coolly, looking back down to the mess of arithmancy he'd been working on while watching his younger friend get thrashed at chess by his older friend. The two boys grumbled some sort of greeting in return.

"We… wanted to ask you something?" Crabbe mumbled.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think we were on great terms."

The two boys exchanged looks, clearly confused at Harry's attitude, and that was the moment Harry knew his intel was correct and that this really was happening.

"Did-did we do something to you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Following Malfoy around like lost puppies might count as doing something to me. I haven't exactly made it a secret how I feel about him."

"This isn't about Malfoy," Goyle insisted.

The corners of Harry's lips twitched. He already knew that all too well. "What is it about then, Goyle?"

"The-the Chamber of Secrets." The entire group that was gathered around the three began to slowly hush, as Harry surveyed the two large boys who sat near him with perfect neutrality.

"So you two are some of the idiots who believe I'm the Heir of Slytherin?"

"We… we never said that-"

"You didn't have to, Crabbe. You're about as subtle as a Bludgeoning Curse. I can tell you that I haven't done anything involving the Chamber of Secrets. I have no idea where it is, or how to open it, or if it even exists."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned forwards, and the two boys he stared down may have realized the other members of the little circle were tensing, if only they were a tad more perceptive. Or perhaps if they weren't so focused on Harry and nobody else.

"But here's a little tidbit. Apparently, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago. A student actually died and somebody was expelled."

Pansy really had looked into the Chamber of Secrets, and her research had been thorough.

"Who?"

"I have no idea. The records are probably out there, but I don't really care."'

"You don't?"

"Not at all. After last year, I'd prefer to stay out of this kind of drama, all things considered." Harry scowled and his eyes flashed, causing both boys to lean backwards. "But I know you're different and that you'll want to go sticking your nose into trouble. Which is exactly why I thought I would be generous and help out a bit. Happy Christmas… little brother."

Before either imposter could move, Harry's wand had shot into his hand and he swept it towards the both of them. The banishing charm that flew from it was powerful enough to send them both sailing through the air. So did the couch they'd sat on, but Hestia, who had also drawn her wand just like everyone around her, managed to divert its course so as to not crush the two imposters. They made to scramble to their feet, but they were suddenly flooded by magic as all of Harry's friends unleashed a torrent of jinxes, hexes and even a few minor curses.

Harry stood and slowly marched his way towards them. The common room was empty aside from Harry's older group of friends, plus Blaise and Ginny. Everybody currently present made up Slytherin's entire roster at the moment, minus Bulstrode- if one counted the two imposters as Crabbe and Goyle- as a result of the ongoing holidays. Harry stood over the two of them, looking down with furious eyes. Neither boy at his feet could move, but their eyes said it all.

They were filled with shock and terror.

"First of all, Charlus, never try and spy on me ever again. Second of all, if you're going to be stupid enough to try anyway, definitely don't try and act as two people who I'm not super close with. Especially when you know almost nothing about them and can't copy them if your life depends on it." He paused, as if trying to remember something important. "Oh and that's right, and if you're going to brew an illegal potion, definitely don't do it in a room that isn't even warded." Harry suspected that if whichever boy was Charlus could move his mouth, he would be gaping in shock.

* * *

_**The Past**_

_**December 19, 1992**_

_**The Library**_

"So let me get this straight," Harry asked Pansy, eyes narrowed. "You saw Granger leaving the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor and thought she looked suspicious?" Pansy nodded, with the rest of the group's attention fixed firmly upon both her and Harry. "So next time you saw her in that area," Harry continued, "you followed her, noticed she went in again and tried to eavesdrop?" Another nod. "You noticed there was a privacy ward up so you got really suspicious. You left and came back later. Then, you found a potion you thought was Polyjuice, questioned the ghost of a girl named Myrtle, and was told that Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Charlus Potter were brewing that very potion in the toilet you found it in?"

For a third time, Pansy nodded.

Harry rubbed at his temples. Sometimes, his brother's idiocy was truly astonishing. "Okay, first question: how the hell does Granger even know how to brew that potion? I mean, it's definitely her brewing it because the other two are idiots, but how? I'm pretty sure I'm better than her at potions and I only know how to brew it because of that book I took out of the Restricted Section last year with Hurst's note. _Moste Potente Potions_."

"She must have gotten a note too," Tracey said reasonably.

"Yes, but how? Which teacher in their right mind would give a second year a pass?" Harry suddenly realized he had just inadvertently given his friends a perfect opportunity to press him about Hurst, but they didn't take it. Clearly, they all realized they had more pressing things on their hands.

"Binns, apparently," Pansy filled in. "Myrtle said Weasley asked the same thing. One day, after a history lesson, Granger asked Binns if she could sign out some books from the Restricted Section to 'further her knowledge'. Obviously, the idiot just signed the note without even realizing what the hell she was asking for." Pansy scowled. "Not that he probably would have cared even if he had looked at it."

"Okay," Harry muttered, as he tapped his fingers restlessly on the table, "okay, so they have Polyjuice Potion, which lets them look like anybody they want to as long as they have their hair. Does anybody know which Slytherins from our year or the year below are staying behind for the break? If they have any brains, they'll use one of them."

"You, Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, and Weasley," Pansy answered without missing a beat.

"Right… so Blaise, stick with me when outside the common room. I'll have Weasley do the same." Blaise nodded, seeming to understand exactly where Harry's mind was going. "That way, they'll have to use Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode. We can just watch for any odd behaviour and jump on it."

"Um," Pansy cut in, "that might not be necessary."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And why is that?"

"Because they said exactly how and when they were planning to do it without even realizing Myrtle was listening in the stall beside them."

This time, Harry actually slammed his head against the desk.

Merlin's balls, his twin was an _idiot_!

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

"Oh, and last thing," Harry said dryly, "if you know something is haunting that room, especially something that can go and run its mouth, don't spill your entire plan." Now, Charlus was looking frantic.

"What do we do with them?" Flora asked, looking rather cruelly down at the two helpless figures.

"Turn them into Snape," Harry said without hesitating. "Anything else we do will backfire on me. Dumbledore already thinks I'm behind anything and everything wrong in the world right now. I don't need to give him any more reasons to be suspicious." Harry looked down at the closest figure to his feet, who just so happened to be Goyle. "But first, let's find the other one, shall we?"

Readying his mind and pulling the little bit of experience he had on the subject to the forefront, Harry pressed his wand against Goyle's forehead with a visage in place that reflected pure, uninterrupted concentration.

"Legilimens!"

If not for his practice with Grace, he would have jumped out of his skin. To put it lightly, the connection was far stronger with a wand than without. The first time Grace had allowed him to establish a connection with his wand during their only practice involving Legilimency, he had been shocked by how thoughts raced to him. He still had no ability to guide them or use any subtlety at all, but thankfully, his comment about finding the other one had forced a rather amusing image of a particularly furious Hermione Granger hiding in a stall to the forefront of Goyle's, or rather, Ron's mind.

Harry pulled out and had to try hard not to gasp. He pressed his hands to his temples as a rather sharp stab of pain coursed through his skull. All of his friends were looking at him strangely. The collective question was obvious.

Since when did you know Legilimency?

Harry ignored them, shaking his head in an effort to clear it before glancing up at Hestia. "Right. Granger is in the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor. Seeing as you're actually — you know — a witch, can you go and get her?" Hestia nodded and marched swiftly from the common room, twirling her wand fluidly through her fingers. Harry then sent Blaise off to get Snape and sneered back down at his twin. "I'm not sure if I've ever told you this before, but your plans really suck."

* * *

_**December 27, 1992**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:11 AM**_

_**Boy-Who-Lived Charged For Possession and Use of an Illegal Potion**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

"That woman does not pull punches," Harry cheerfully remarked as he glanced down at the bold headline flashing at the top of Hestia's copy of the _Daily Prophet._

"Not even a little bit," Blaise returned with a smirk. "Much more entertaining when it's not aimed at you, isn't it?"

"Mmhm."

Charlus, Ron, and a still fur-covered Hermione had been frog-marched up to the Headmaster's office by Snape. Dumbledore somehow hadn't expelled them. Harry had no idea how the man kept doing it, but he truly had a talent for getting his idiotic twin out of sketchy situations.

While they may not have been expelled, they had all been punished severely.

All three of them had detention on Saturday night every weekend until the end of the year. Charlus was off the Gryffindor Quidditch team for that same amount of time, and Hermione was banned from checking anything out of the library. Harry was sure she would find a way around it, but she was only supposed to use the library for purposes strictly related to her classes.

As far as Harry knew, Ron Weasley hadn't received a specialized punishment, but he would apparently be missing a lot of school, since Molly Weasley was supposedly following through on her threat to pull him from Hogwarts from the beginning of the year once she and her husband returned from their trip to Egypt. That last part was according to Ginny.

Now that he'd read the prophet, Harry focused his attention on his own mail. It was marked with the emblem used by the Greengrass's law firm, and Harry knew even before opening it that it had been sent by his solicitor, Veronica Tate.

_Heir Potter,_

_The knife was sent off for evaluation immediately after you left my office. Lord Greengrass expedited the process, and the results have come back._

_As you indicated, the blade is enchanted so that no means will heal cuts it makes. Another, darker enchantment is that the knife will not immediately kill its victims. It will trigger psychological damage, but the damage that will be done mentally is relative to the damage done physically. A graze or shallow cut would likely only mean a horrible few weeks for the victim. A deep cut would likely mean they would eventually commit suicide. It is an extremely illegal, but extremely rare enchantment. It is also goblin-made, which, aside from outstanding durability, means that it has the unique ability to absorb any essence which would make it stronger._

_All of this combined with the fact that it is an artifact that has existed for centuries, means that our estimate for its value is somewhere in the range of six-thousand galleons._

_As for your other business…_

Harry read the rest of the letter before sitting back in his chair. The enchanted knife was a useful item to have, no doubt. But he thought the galleons would likely be more useful to him. Especially if Pettigrew was planning to have him banished from the Potter family. On the off chance he somehow managed to succeed, Harry wanted to be prepared by the time that happened.

He had already planned on trying to make some money just in case something like that ever happened. The idea had been born from his terrifying encounter with Malfoy the year previous, but it had just risen much higher on his ever-growing list of priorities.

Six-thousand galleons was certainly a good start.

* * *

_**December 31, 1992**_

_**Greengrass Manor**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Harry stepped out of the fire with what he considered to be a considerable amount of grace. It felt nice to be back at Greengrass Manor. He wouldn't quite call the place a home, but outside of Hogwarts- as well as Weitts Manor- it was certainly the closest thing he had to one. It was the place he'd gone to after he had been liberated from the Dursleys this last summer, after all.

He noticed that the Weitts and Greengrass families were rather preoccupied, so he chose to walk towards the corridor that he thought likely led to the ballroom. As he walked towards it, he noticed an additional member of the Weitts family he'd never seen before.

The man was clearly much older than any of the other Weitts family members. He was a couple of inches shorter than Sigmund, and had white hair that Harry could imagine used to be platinum blonde, just like Adriana's and Charlotte's. His face was old and weathered, but he still looked to be in fairly good shape and like he had an admirable amount of exuberance for one his age. The eyes were the same as all the other members of his family. Their silvery-blue colour couldn't be missed nor mistaken.

"Happy New Year, Harry."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been so focused on the new man that he hadn't even noticed Charlotte, dressed in a rather stunning white dress, come up behind him. "Merlin, Charlotte, don't do that!"

She smirked. "We'll just have to make sure you get good at Legilimency. That way, I won't be able to sneak up on you like that." Her smile widened. "Well, I know Occlumency so I'll still be able to, but you get the idea."

"Yes, yes, I get the idea." He looked from Charlotte to the man who was now shaking hands with Cornelius Fudge, Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes. "Who's that man, if you don't mind me asking?"

"My Grandfather," Charlotte answered with obvious fondness. "He's technically still the Lord of House Weitts, but my Father handles most of it."

"I've never seen him before today."

"He doesn't live in England, so that's not surprising."

"I would ask you where he lived, but I have a feeling you're not allowed to say."

Charlotte shrugged. "I'm not allowed to give the information to people I don't trust, but I can say it if I trust the person."

"Go on?"

Her lips twitched. "You assume I trust you?"

"You did come to me for lessons in combat magic."

"Alright, touché, I guess. He lives in a castle in Germany."

"A… castle?"

"Yes, Weitts Manor is only our second-largest property."

As the two of them neared the ballroom, Harry couldn't help but wonder just how obscenely rich the Weitts family actually was. Six-thousand galleons had sounded like a ton of money at the time. He knew it wasn't in the grand scheme of things, but he suddenly wondered whether the House of Weitts would even bat an eye at such a small sum of money.

"He wants to meet you later," Charlotte informed Harry as she led him to the longest, most central table. He assumed it would be where both the Weitts and Greengrass families would be sitting.

"I'm surprised I'm sitting here."

Charlotte looked at him sharply. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, I'm not a member of the Weitts or Greengrass families. My house is important, but probably not super important to either of your families, seeing as we're Liberals and you're both Neutrals. I understood it last year. The forsaken Potter heir steeped in mystery and all of that rubbish, but this year…"

"Not everything is a politically driven decision," Charlotte pointed out. "You're one of my best friends. Same goes for Daphne."

"Yet I'm guessing Blaise isn't going to be sitting here when he shows up in five or so minutes?"

Charlotte's face blanked, an obvious sign to Harry that he'd caught her out. "No, he isn't. He's a friend, but not as close as you. You've actually spent time here over the summer. Not counting my actual family, Daphne, and Astoria, you're probably the closest thing I have to family."

That statement caused ample amounts of warmth to spread through him, and Harry had to fight down a blush. He struggled with compliments, let alone anything bordering on affection. He could suppress the feeling, obviously, but he had no desire to. It wasn't unpleasant, just alien.

"And the other reason?" he prompted, knowing by her reaction that there was one.

She shrugged. "I already told you, Grandfather wants to meet you."

Despite apparently wanting to meet him, Giaus Weitts said very little to Harry beyond a basic formality when he took his seat at the head of the table. That struck Harry as odd, too. This was Cyrus Greengrass's house, yet the Lord of House Weitts took the head. Perhaps it was just that he was the oldest and most seasoned of the lords currently at the table.

The gala stretched on for some time whilst everybody ate. After a time, Lord Greengrass stood and gave a speech about the closing of one year and the opening of the next. Once his speech had concluded, the floor was opened for both dancing and politicking.

"Sticking with me again?" Harry asked Charlotte as Daphne - (being the Greengrass Heiress and hostess of the event - found herself swamped at once.

Charlotte smiled. "Now you're learning."

The two of them walked laps around the ballroom for quite some time. All the while, Harry kept his eyes out for Lord Weitts, but the man never approached him. Perhaps he wasn't as interested as Charlotte suspected, or perhaps she had simply used him as an excuse to justify his place at their table. He thought the latter option to be unlikely since he couldn't see why else he would have been there, but he wasn't about to discount the possibility altogether.

Harry found himself approached by a fair number of people involved in Quidditch. Apparently, outflying a rogue bludger, leading a death-defying chase under a set of bleachers, and beating the prodigal Boy-Who-Lived earned one a fair bit of attention. It wasn't as if they were offering a twelve-year-old boy a contract or any such nonsense, but he was congratulated rather jovially by some fairly large names in the sport.

Some time later, the two of them found themselves joined by another. She was no doubt Daphne's sister. She had the same sapphire blue eyes, though her hair was light brown instead of honey blonde and her features, though definitely still soft, were slightly sharper than Daphne's.

"Astoria!" Charlotte hugged the youngest member of House Greengrass, obviously being rather familiar with her. This wasn't exactly a surprise to Harry. He'd met her briefly after her family had liberated him from Privet Drive. Outside of that, he had only seen her for a few seconds around Greengrass Manor whenever he had flooed over during the summer, as well as even more briefly during his first ever formal gala.

"How's Hogwarts?" Astoria asked, sounding every bit as curious as Charlotte when she'd asked Daphne that same question exactly fourteen months earlier.

Charlotte gave a rather detailed answer, and the two of them were quickly caught up in conversation. As Harry began to space out, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned quickly to see Grace standing before him.

"How did you manage to get out of the madness, Heiress Weitts?" Harry put a deliberate amount of mocking formality into Grace's title, which just made the older girl roll her eyes.

"A few polite excuses and some well-practiced smiles usually work well. I was wondering if you would care for a dance?"

Harry's eyebrows knit together. Grace knew all too well his stance on physical contact of any kind. Let alone the fact that she had hardly ever touched him before. He let Daphne get away with it most of the time, but that was because she was as persistent as a niffler looking for gold, and by now, he was somewhat accustomed to it.

Obviously, Grace noticed his apprehension. "It's not supposed to be comfortable," she prefaced. "I know that you can suppress emotions now. I also know it's harder to suppress things brought on by physical sensations, so it will be good practice. It's also good publicity for you to be seen with me if you're going to be spending time around the family in the next few years."

Harry sighed theatrically before following her onto the dance floor as requested. "Why do you always have to be right?"

She laughed lightly. "I have a feeling your friends probably ask you the same question."

"They do sometimes, but that doesn't mean I can't ask it of you."

"It doesn't, but it probably means you know all of the answers I would give you as well as I do."

"Touché."

Harry did indeed have to suppress the sensations he felt as well as his emotions for the first few steps of the dance, but it became easier as they moved. It was certainly nice to be able to partake in normal activities without being as stiff as a board. "Much better," Grace said with a small smile. "You're improving very quickly, you know."

"I need to keep improving just as fast, if not faster."

"You will. The stages might take longer as you move through them, but relatively speaking, you will."

They danced for another minute or so before Harry spoke. Thanking people — yet another thing he despised and was utterly rubbish at. "Thanks for the chain, by the way. It was… the most impressive gift I got. Between the two of us, that is actually saying quite a bit."

Grace gave him a rather knowing look. "I'm sure it is, and you're welcome. I wasn't actually sure whether I would be able to give it to you or not. There were some… logistical problems, not to mention how difficult it actually was to make."

"You made it yourself?"

"I did."

"In the time between arriving back home and Christmas?"

"Merlin, no. I've been working on it since November. I put more hours into it than I would care to admit, but I think it turned out well."

"I can't say I've had the chance to test it yet."

"I would hope not. It's been less than a week."

"Any obvious limitations I should know about?"

Grace thought for a moment. "Not really. Theoretically, a skilled enough wizard could overpower it, but it would be a pain. The only thing I would warn you of is that it works better indoors than out. It covers a certain area. Outdoors, with more room to move, it's obviously not going to work as well."

Harry hadn't actually thought about that, but it was a useful tidbit to have.

Near the end of their dance, Harry came out with a question that had been bothering him for reasons he could not entirely articulate. "Is your grandfather actually interested in me?"

Grace paused to consider the question. "Interested? Absolutely. I don't think most people who have heard of you aren't interested. I'm not sure you realize how incredible three O+'s in a year actually is. First year or not, it got you some attention. You're also very good friends with Charlotte, and he knows the two of us spend at least a decent amount of time together. I had to get his permission just to make the chain for you at all."

That was interesting. So at the very least Giaus Weitts thought him worthy of that. Or, perhaps, he thought it would just further in-debt Harry to their family. He wouldn't be wrong if he thought the latter, though Harry seriously hoped he had agreed with the former in mind, even if it was perhaps naive of him. Emily would certainly have said so.

When the dance had concluded, Harry politely excused himself for some air. He had suppressed all feelings and emotions successfully, but doing so was still rather exhausting. After a relatively short time, he found his way out onto a balcony that overlooked the long, snow-covered lawns of Greengrass Manor.

"Heir Potter."

The voice was not one Harry was familiar with. It was as cold as ice and as hard as steel and it instantly put him on edge. When he turned, the man standing before him was not one he had seen either.

"Sir?"

"I am Lord Darren Mulciber."

Uh-oh.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir."

The man did not return his greeting. "You have something that belongs to me, Potter."

"Sir?"

"My dagger. It is an heirloom that has been in the Mulciber family for centuries. I demand it be returned to me immediately."

"You can't make that demand, Lord Mulciber."

The man's eyes flashed dangerously. "Can't I, Potter?"

"No, you can't. The dagger is highly illegal. You have no right to own it in the first place. I highly doubt you've registered it as a possession, so you actually don't have any rights to demand it back."

That was all information he'd received during his crash course with Veronica Tate. He had essentially just regurgitated what she had told him. It was all true, but Lord Mulciber did not look happy.

"Listen to me, boy," he growled. "I know you stole that dagger from my son and heir. You will return it immediately or you will suffer the consequences."

Harry suppressed all emotion from his face and stared passively back at Lord Mulciber. "Your son and heir was attacking my friend with that dagger and he deserves to be in Azkaban for it. I think the knife should be the last of your worries. And I doubt you'll attack me or any such nonsense," he said quickly before Mulciber could retort. "My family outranks yours and I'm the heir. Regardless of my brother being the 'Boy-Who-Lived', it wouldn't be a good idea to attack me." His eyes shone. "Especially not when the dagger is with my solicitor, at the moment."

"You little bastard!" Mulciber snarled, hand creeping towards his wand.

"Language, Mulciber," somebody else drawled condescendingly from behind the man.

He whirled, obviously in a fury and eager to take out his pent up frustration on anybody in the vicinity. Then, the oddest thing happened. He blanched completely and obviously at the sight of the newcomer, who was a tall, familiar woman with dark features and heavily lidded eyes. Harry would have recognized her even if they hadn't met over a year ago. Her daughter was a miniature version of her in terms of their appearance, for Merlin's sake.

"Lady Black," Mulciber muttered, quickly calming his tone and looking anywhere but at Bellatrix.

"Leave us, Mulciber. I would like a word with my cousin." Mulciber did not look happy about it in the least, but he grudgingly left. Harry was pretty sure that wouldn't be his last altercation with the man, but Bellatrix Black had at least spared him for the time being.

But the way Mulciber had backed down so suddenly…

He'd known Bellatrix Black was dangerous from the moment they had first met. Just how dangerous was she really, though, for a man like Mulciber to back down without any hesitation?

"Lady Black," Harry greeted cautiously.

Bellatrix smiled a disarming smile. "None of that from you. The last time we met, I told you to call me Bellatrix or Bella. That hasn't changed since."

Harry bowed his head. "As you wish." He paused. "Thank you for that, by the way. I don't think he was actually going to do anything, but I didn't want to chance it either." Of course, he had planned for that scenario. Grace's chain would have gotten its first field test had Mulciber actually been foolish enough to attack him.

"You're a very good judge of character," Bellatrix told him with a small smile. "He wasn't going to attack you, but he still shouldn't have threatened an heir. Let alone one who outranks him."

Harry shrugged. "I'm just happy nothing came of it."

"Happy to be of service, Harry." Harry noticed how, unlike most, she didn't ask permission to use his first name. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What is this dagger that Lord Mulciber is referring to?" Harry glanced hastily around, but Bellatrix merely laughed softly. "Silly Harry, there's nobody else here." He wasn't sure how she knew that since he was quite certain she hadn't cast a Homenum Revelio, but he wasn't about to call her out on it.

"That's… a delicate matter."

"I won't tell," Bellatrix practically purred. "Not a soul. I swear it to you."

Harry hesitated. "Why do you ask, Bellatrix? Would you be interested in a dagger?"

Amusement danced in her eyes. "Maybe. Is the Potter Heir looking for some spare gold?"

"It… would be a little bit more than spare gold."

Now, Bellatrix really did look interested. "Go on."

Harry debated it for only a moment before deciding to go for it. She was the Lady of House Black. She didn't strike him as a snitch. "The dagger is hundreds of years old, stops any cut it makes from being healed, is goblin-made and can cause long-term, psychological damage."

Bellatrix's eyes sparkled with something else now — desire.

"You asked if I was interested in a knife. I have a counter-question to ask you."

"Okay."

"Are you interested in selling me a knife?"

"That depends on how much you're willing to pay for it."

Bellatrix waved a hand dismissively. "Money means nothing. Give me a price."

Harry debated just how high of a number would be absurd. He decided to go big or go home. If he needed to backtrack, he could just play the ignorant twelve-year-old card. "Twelve-thousand galleons."

"Done."

Harry blinked. "Um… really?"

Bellatrix smirked knowingly. "Don't think you've pulled one over on me, Harry. I know all too well that knife is not worth twelve thousand galleons. If it's worth more than five thousand, I am frankly impressed. But as I said, money means nothing to me. I have more of it than I could ever spend. I am simply helping out a member of the family, after all."

She stepped forward and extended her hand. "Of course, the paperwork will need to be filed, but do we have a deal? No re-negotiating?" Harry took her outstretched hand.

A minute or so later, Bellatrix had left, and he was left alone once more, staring out over the beautiful landscape stretching out around him.

"You are a popular man, Heir Potter."

Or perhaps he wasn't as alone as he had thought.

Giaus Weitts strode towards him, his simple black robes trimmed in grey seeming to flow in perfect synchrony with his movements.

"Lord Weitts?"

"Indeed."

"How… she said there was nobody here. I didn't think there was a way of fooling the Homenum Revelio charm?"

"She never cast the Homenum Revelio charm, as I am sure you know. Some sorcerers are skillful enough to sense magic without the need for revealing charms or Legilimency connections. Lady Black just so happens to be one of those people." His lips twitched. "It just so happens that I am more skillful than her, and that I have a way of eluding such senses when I see fit to do so."

"I… didn't know that was possible."

"It isn't magic that will ever be taught at Hogwarts. It is available only to the exceptional and is something that can be taught only to an extent. Naturally, I expect you will be capable of it in a few years' time."

"You… what?"

Lord Weitts looked at him for the first time, and Harry nearly shivered. All of their eyes were damn identical! Charlotte, Grace, Adriana, Giaus.

"I have wished to meet you for some time, Harry Potter. My granddaughters are both very close to you. They are both exceptional witches, not just in spirit but in magic as well. Yet the youngest of them speaks of you in such a high regard that it would seem you are in a league of your own. Even the elder of the two seems wholly convinced you will one day dwarf her academic accomplishments, various as they might be."

"They're both very talented, sir."

"Indeed they are, which only makes it the more impressive the way they speak of you." Harry didn't really know how to respond to that. "I will be frank with you, Harry Potter. I was not thrilled when I heard tales of you, nor when I learned that my youngest family member in particular was so closely acquainted with you."

"Sir?"

"You are no ordinary wizard. We both know this, so do not insult my intelligence by denying it. You have progressed rapidly in Occlumency. You have done so at a rate that amazed even Grace, who is already one of the very best Occlumency practitioners in Britain. Yet you also display an aptitude for Legilimency. An affinity for one is rare. An affinity for both, while not completely unique, is almost unheard of. Compound that with your outstanding academic achievements and your display at your family's gala in the summer — no, you are not an ordinary wizard. Not in the slightest." Harry opened his mouth, but Giaus cut him off. "And do not speak ill of your showcase last summer. I know you were holding back." That shut Harry up.

"Do you know why I am saying this? Do you know why I was initially unhappy with my family's relationship with you?"

"No, sir."

"You may not be one as of yet, but you will one day ascend far beyond the definition of a wizard. You will be a true mage. Do not tell me they are the same, for they are not. A wizard is one who can wield magic. A mage is one who has mastered magic. Who bends the forces of reality around them with barely more than a thought. Albus Dumbledore is a mage, as is his one-time instructor, Nicholas Flamel. Gellert Grindelwald fell into this category as well, as did the Dark Lady who called herself Voldemort. There are one or two more, but these are the names you will recognize. The names that will have the most profound impact on you.

"You will one day join their ranks as long as you stay the course. I know this better than any. I have seen mages rise. Not just any mages either, but true, centennial sorcerers."

"Sir, I… don't know what that means?"

"To be called a centennial sorcerer means that you defined the century in which you were born. There is usually one of these beings per century. The nineteenth was an exception. Both Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore would be categorized as such. Until recently, I believed England's Dark Lady to be the defining sorceress of the twentieth century, but I suspect you will challenge her throne. Whether you oppose her or not does not matter. You and her are the Dumbledore and Grindelwald of this century. Not yet, but you will be.

"As I have said, I have seen two of these figures rise. Three, in a way. I watched from inside Germany as Gellert Grindelwald conquered much of Europe, gained unimaginable powers and dove into truly unspeakable magics. Magics which turned his own men against him in droves. I have seen Albus Dumbledore rise through the ranks of the ICW, though I am younger than he, and ascend to the position he is in now. And I have seen the rise and subsequent fall of Voldemort. I know what to look for. I know the signs of a mage and a centennial sorcerer better than any person alive aside from those names I have just mentioned. Aside from power, brilliance, achievements and all the rest, can you guess what Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, and the woman who called herself Lady Voldemort have in common?"

"No, sir." Harry had a few guesses, but none he wished to voice aloud.

"These people all chase greatness. It is in their nature. In the process, the people around them are not only often abandoned, they are often caught up in whatever greatness said magical is pursuing. People around this level of magery do not often come out on the other side quite as well off as they went in." Giaus gave Harry a hard look. "And that is if they come out at all — plenty don't." Harry's breath caught, but the man continued ruthlessly.

"Albus Dumbledore's sister died as a result of his ambition and his ploys. To this day, his own brother cannot bear to speak with him. He would sit and watch on in amusement if Albus's world came crashing down around him. Grindelwald's apparent friends and allies were little more than pawns and test dummies. Even those who supported him eventually realized what he sought to do and abandoned him because of the monster he truly was. I will admit I know less of Lady Voldemort than I do the other two, but look what has become of those who supported her."

"You're afraid that same thing will happen to Grace and Charlotte," Harry said at long last.

"Precisely."

"What can I say to you that will make you believe otherwise?"

Giaus laughed. "How naive of you to ask such a question. The future is a funny thing, Harry Potter. Nobody can see the future, not even those among us who are possessed with the supposedly all-seeing inner eye. We can only see the possibilities said future may present. There is nothing you could tell me that would assure me that my family will be better off for knowing you. However, there are things you can do and say that may put my mind at ease. It is one of the reasons I agreed for my family to house you, after all."

"To watch me?"

"Indeed."

"And what did they think?"

"That you were a remarkable young boy who was perhaps a bit lost and not exactly sure of his place in the world."

That had been a very honest answer. "I'm… not quite sure what you mean by not knowing my place in the world. I know it politically."

"Yet another thing that sets the greats apart." Giaus seemed to think for a moment. "Allow me to introduce another term to you. You are aware of what a Lord and Lady means in the political sense?"

"Of course."

"What is the difference then, Heir Potter, between a lord or lady of the Wizengamot compared to a lord or lady of the light, dark, or grey?"

"Everything you said earlier?"

"In part, yes. The Dark Lady is called such because she defined the ideologies of the dark faction. She defined an entire idea by working outside the scope of the Wizengamot as well as inside of it. The same can be said for Grindelwald, who was the last true lord in the sense we are speaking of."

"Is Dumbledore not a lord?"

"He certainly borders on the title, but I would not consider him one. For one thing, Albus Dumbledore is not a Light Lord. For all of his preaching, Dumbledore is far more grey than he is light. His ideals and desires may be light, but his methods certainly are not. It is actions that define us. Not our thoughts. I know things about Albus Dumbledore that would make the poor, naive Liberals gawk in horror. No, Dumbledore does not define the light, as much as he wishes he did. He could be a true lord if he so chose, but he has not chosen that path. Grindelwald was the last true lord, just as Voldemort was the last true lady. Do you follow"

Harry nodded.

"Good, let me explain another thing that makes a true lord or lady. Their ambitions match their skill set. They strive for something outside the normal scope of a witch or wizard. This is oftentimes why they operate outside of the standard parameters society sets upon them. They have very set goals and oftentimes, they will stop at nothing to achieve them. Which, in turn, is what makes them so dangerous, regardless of the goals they chase. Though of course, some, like world domination, are far more dangerous than others.

"If you so choose when the time comes, you will be a lord, Harry Potter. But a lord of what? The light, the dark, of the grey?"

"I… I don't know, sir."

Giaus nodded. "I thought not. In that case, I have two requests of you, young man. I do not need these done soon. The first of them, we will speak about this summer. If your answer satisfies me, it will do a great deal to dissuade my worry. The second of these things I do not expect you to achieve for some time. Though of course, if you do so earlier, or have any ideas on the front, I would love to hear them."

Harry set his jaw. "What are they, sir?"

"The first of which is to study the light, the dark, and the grey. Not the propaganda. I would like you to dive into the history and philosophy behind each of them. This summer, I will ask you which ideals appeal to you the most. If you were to be a true lord, which of these domains would you lord over? And do not simply answer grey to appease me. I am interested in your honest answer. More than one is acceptable depending on the justifications you provide. Do you understand?" Again, Harry nodded.

"The second thing is for you to establish what it is you want in life. Do not simply answer to be the greatest wizard in the world. That is not a goal worthy of somebody with your potential. If you are going to be associated with my family, I will not see your potential warped in a way that will ruin us, but I will not see it squandered either. I do not need an answer for several years still, but think very deeply. Think of what it is that defines you. Think of what it is you think should define the world. When you have thought about those two things, come to me with your dearest ambition. Not a small, sentimental, personal goal, but an achievement that would be truly worthy of a true lord.

"Do those two things, Harry Potter, and we shall talk more openly than I have spoken with any in decades."

* * *

_**Some time later, back in the ballroom of Greengrass Manor**_

For reasons he couldn't entirely explain, Harry's conversation with Giaus Weitts had shaken him to the core. Not because of anything the man had done or how he had acted. He had been polite, if blunt, but that was how Harry would have liked it. Just because he was a Slytherin didn't mean he had to play word games with every single person he ever met. That would be ridiculous. He appreciated somebody who wasn't afraid to get to the point and tell it to them like it was.

But the point was what had shaken him.

Everything Giaus said not only made sense, but it resonated with him. It was as if the older man could actually see the future. It felt as if by saying all of that, he was manifesting it into reality. And those questions… they were things Harry had never thought about. He had only ever thought of the light, the dark, and the grey as the Liberals, the Conservatives, and the Neutrals. Never in his life had he sat back and considered them as a philosophy. The closest he'd come to that was his stance on magic.

And that wasn't even talking about his potential and stance in the world, let alone his life's ambitions. Merlin, that had been a lot to digest.

Yet after all of that, the night's events had not yet concluded.

"About time," he muttered when Daphne finally joined himself and Charlotte. "You really have been busy, haven't you?"

"You have no idea." Those words sounded oddly significant for reasons Harry couldn't decipher.

Not until about three seconds later, anyway.

There was a loud crash that drew the entire room's attention. Draco Malfoy had flipped a table ladened with expensive-looking desserts. His wand was in his hand, and he suddenly slashed it towards Lord Weitts.

"Exoculatus!"

Somebody caused a table to intercept the Blinding Curse Malfoy had fired in Lord Weitts's direction but the room was suddenly full of gasps, shouts, and even expletives.

Malfoy had clearly snapped and he appeared unhinged. He sent tables tumbling with the knockback jinx, he threw chairs, and even hurled spells towards Lord Weitts. He was enraged.

It only took a few seconds for him to be stunned but in that short time, he had done plenty of damage. All eyes in the room suddenly turned to the Malfoy parents, who were looking on with utter horror.

Except one set of eyes, that was.

One calculating set of emerald orbs were peering at a specific heiress with a mix of suspicion and awe.

It appeared by the smirk on her face that Daphne had finally taken revenge on behalf of Tracey after fourteen plus months.

And by Merlin, had it been glorious!

If Harry's stunts had damaged the boy's reputation the year earlier, this had utterly ruined it!

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Thank you all so much for 4,000 followers!**

**I wonder how many of you forgot about Daphne's revenge. I actually have records of a conversation with one of my betas from way back in April where we discussed a vague outline for this scene, so it has been planned for months.**

**A lot of philosophy in this chapter that needed to be written. I hope it didn't read too dry. Same with the gift scene. Ugh! I hate writing gift scenes, but they are a necessary evil. They're just so hard to make interesting. I always try to include internal monologue and dialogue to break up the monotonous list, so I hope I was successful on this occasion.**

**A reminder that my new fic has been posted for anyone who would like to read it. Any support on it would be greatly appreciated. If you would like to learn more about it before you dive in, there is a blog post all about it that can be found on my website. You can follow the link on my profile and then scroll down to the "Blogs" header to find it.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, November 21st, 2020.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Ashabel, Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope, Liam Evans and Sesc for their contributions/corrections this week!**

**An additional shoutout to Wakefan from my Discord sever for the suggested chapter title. **


	42. SS Ch 24: Extreme Escalations Part I

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin **

**Chapter 24: Extreme Escalations Part I**

* * *

_**January 1, 1993**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:17 AM**_

Earlier in the year, Harry had been taken aback by some of the more incendiary articles Rita Skeeter had published. Later, he'd been equally perplexed by her sudden backtracking of the aforementioned articles that had been posted months earlier. Now, on the first day of the new year, Harry's suspicions in regards to the latter were furthered.

_**Controversy and Chaos Steal the Show at the Greengrass Family Gala!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

On the surface, one might wonder why this sparked any reaction from Harry at all. Naturally, he should have expected an article to come after such a major irregularity at a highly followed social event. This was all true, and it was the exact reason Harry wasn't at all surprised by the headline. What surprised him was the article that accompanied it.

_Last night, the Founding House of Greengrass hosted a major social gathering. At said gathering were many of the most prominent witches and wizards from all across the country, as is usually the case when families of this caliber open their houses. However, this event wasn't quite like many that have come before it._

_Late in the festivities, an atrocity took place._

_Draco Malfoy, Heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy, appeared to become enraged, causing a fair bit of damage as he recklessly fired spells at a rather prominent member of our society. _

_That was what we all saw._

_The bigger question here is why? Surely a young man trained as well as I'm sure Heir Malfoy is would not simply snap on a whim? _

_Lord Lucius Malfoy agrees with me at least. "We have not raised our son to act out in the way he did tonight," the esteemed philanthropist told me in an exclusive interview late last night. "I would never assert we raised a perfect child, but I assure you, Draco would never act in such a way. There is doubtlessly foul play involved, likely by those who would enjoy seeing my reputation plummet, for legitimate reasons or otherwise."_

_When pressed further on the issue, Lord Malfoy tentatively told me that he suspects a potion, but he was unwilling to point fingers. _

"_The truth of the matter, Rita, is that I have no idea who did such a thing. It would be unbecoming of somebody of my status to go around accusing others with little evidence to support my accusations. The House of Malfoy will continue to look further into the investigation, but I shall not accuse others who may well be innocent. It would be the highest mark of disrespect."_

_The lord in question also apologized on behalf of the house. As he put it, "Whether Draco was truly at fault matters not. A member of the House of Malfoy caused an unwanted disturbance at a major event, which is completely unacceptable and wholly disgraceful."_

The article went on to hypothesize further, but Harry needed to read no more. He sat back, surrounded by his friends, minus Cassius, who was still asleep in the dorms. If not for Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle, who sat quite some way away, they would have been the only ones present at the long, Slytherin table.

"You were definitely right earlier in the year about the paper changing its tune," Blaise observed.

Harry nodded. "It definitely seems like they're a lot more willing to listen to Lucius Malfoy."

"Bought them off, probably," Hestia said dismissively.

"He may very well have," Harry agreed.

It was certainly possible.

Whether or not that was what Lucius had done mattered very little. The only thing that did matter was that he had done it. Not that it was a surprise he had. The man had cunning in spades, that much was obvious. He'd quite literally guessed the cause for Draco's irrational outburst perfectly, after all. For that alone, the man deserved a certain amount of credit.

* * *

_**The Past**_

_**December 31, 1992**_

_**Greengrass Manor**_

_**11:09 PM**_

The moments following Draco's seemingly random fit of rage were some of the most surreal that Harry had ever experienced. Not only for their absurdity, but also because he was feeling a heavy sense of déjà vu. The situation almost perfectly mirrored the one from the Weitts's Samhain gathering during his first year. The night that Harry had framed Draco with the Serpensortia trick and the boy in question had been led off by his parents.

This was almost no different.

It didn't take long to subdue Draco, and he was promptly dragged from the hall by his parents, who proceeded to depart the manor. To Giaus Weitts's credit- who'd been the intended target of much of the boy's ire- he didn't seem fazed. He didn't even bother demanding compensation. Despite that, Harry hadn't failed to notice the man's obvious amusement when Lucius Malfoy, one of the most politically powerful men in the country, had been forced to practically grovel in front of him on behalf of his son and heir. Harry could hardly blame him. It had been rather amusing.

Unlike the year before, the festivities continued. They weren't scheduled to last a whole lot longer anyway, but they did at least play out to their conclusions. When the ball itself had ended, Harry caught Daphne's eye, and the meaning of his glance was obvious.

Five or so minutes later, he was with Daphne, Charlotte and Blaise in a locked and warded room down the hall. Harry had barely seen the latter boy for much of the night. Not since he'd left after dancing with Grace, at least.

"Let's just cut to the chase," Harry began, "how the hell did you pull that off?" His question was very obviously directed towards Daphne.

To her credit, she didn't look at all flustered. On the contrary, she looked almost smug. "Nothing I say here leaves this room."

Blaise snorted. "Shame, I was planning to run off to Lucius Malfoy at the first available opportunity."

"Are you ever not sarcastic?" Charlotte sounded genuinely curious, and Harry couldn't help but allow a small smile at the question, if only because he knew whatever Blaise answered with would inevitably be amusing.

Blaise had a perfect poker face as he answered. "Of course, dear. Any time anybody asks me that exact question."

Charlotte sighed theatrically. "You're impossible."

Blaise looked affronted. "What? There's no point in being sarcastic if the person expects it coming. That would be utterly ridiculous."

"You're saying your entire existence has been pointless then?"

"Of course not. Only the entirety of my existence that's been spent talking to you lot."

"If we're finished," Daphne said sharply, drawing the attention of the room back onto her. When all heads turned towards her once more, she straightened up. Harry recognized this as her lecturing posture. It was the stance she took on any time she was about to impart unknown knowledge upon those around her, usually that which pertained to Potions.

"Well, Charlotte knows the beginning of it." The girl in question nodded, but Daphne merely continued. "Obviously, I said ages ago that I was going to get Malfoy for what he did to Tracey." She looked at Harry. "You beat me to that, so I didn't have the element of surprise anymore. So instead, I just thought I would wait until whatever I did would do a whole lot of damage."

"You've accomplished it," Charlotte said needlessly. "He was already losing support in Slytherin. This will probably be a mess for his family, and I doubt he'll get much backing at all now."

Daphne nodded. "That was the goal, yes. Anyway, I had one of my family's house elves spike his drink with a basic Draught of Hate."

Harry's eyes widened. "You took one of Giaus Weitts's hairs?" The Draught of Hate was a potion that, like Polyjuice, hinged on another person's hair. Except instead of allowing the drinker to transform into the person whose hair they'd stolen, it created irrationally powerful feelings of hatred towards that person.

"That was actually me," Charlotte said with an oddly proud expression.

"Of course it was," Harry muttered, rubbing at his temples. "Right, okay, you probably have the adorable grandchild thing going for you, so he probably didn't comment even if he did notice."

Charlotte's gaze turned steely. "If you ever call me adorable again-"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you'll rain fire down upon me and all the rest. How about we let Daphne to finish speaking first."

Daphne looked intensely amused as Charlotte folded her arms, looking very cross for her part. Ignoring her oldest friend's dilemma completely, Daphne pressed on. "Well, it was that simple, really. I knew he would never be able to land a spell on Lord Weitts, so I thought it was a fairly safe bet that way. Plus, it would trash Malfoy's reputation, which is exactly what I was going for."

Harry and Blaise exchanged concerned looks. "Harry, my dear fellow?" the dark skinned boy asked.

"Yes, Blaise?"

"Do put that outstanding memory of yours to use and remind me never to make that one angry? Her fangs have grown since last year. They're more terrifying than adorable now."

Harry couldn't help but join his friends in a fit of laughter.

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

Harry and Blaise glanced at one another, obviously unable to say anything in the presence of the others. What was left unsaid was the obvious implications of Lucius Malfoy's intellect. He'd deduced exactly what had happened. Then again, so had Harry almost immediately after the event had transpired, so he supposed it wasn't all that surprising.

This did confirm a theory of Harry's though. A theory that meant there was one more thing he wanted from his ongoing negotiations with Lucius Malfoy. Which meant he had a letter to write to his solicitor. One that would have to be written very… carefully.

* * *

_**January 3, 1993**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**7:27 PM**_

The rest of the school had just returned to the castle about an hour ago. Sans Ron Weasley, that is, who had apparently flooed home to his family now that his mother and father had returned from Europe. Exactly how long he would be absent from the castle was a mystery to just about everybody. Not even Ginny knew, for Merlin's sake - and she was his sister.

For the first hour or so, Blaise and Harry had been catching up with the rest of their friends, all of whom had gone home for the duration of the holidays. Half of that time had been consumed by Pansy, talking at about a million miles a minute, nearly past coherence at the sheer idiocy displayed by Draco. According to her, the Malfoy Heir had received an ultimatum similar to the one Ronald Weasley had been given via howler back on their first day of lessons, though the wording had been slightly different.

Start acting like a Malfoy or your time at Hogwarts is over.

The difference was that, at least according to Pansy, if Lucius Malfoy pulled his son from Hogwarts, he wouldn't be returning. He would inevitably be shipped off to one of the other major wizarding schools in Europe. Which meant he would either be heading to France and attending Beauxbatons, or…

"Does anyone _actually_ know where Durmstrang is?"

All of the purebloods looked from Harry, who'd asked the question, to each other before Pansy finally answered. "Not really, no. We just know it's somewhere in Eastern Europe. Most people seem to think it's up north somewhere, since their school uniforms are ridiculously heavy and warm."

"Yes, and some people think that's just a ploy," Blaise countered lightly. "A tactic to make others think the school is somewhere it isn't."

Harry couldn't help but notice how quiet Charlotte had been for the duration of that particular exchange. Her face was completely blank as well. He supposed it made sense. The Weitts family had only spent a couple of generations in Britain, at most. It was highly possible that Giaus, or perhaps even Adriana, had attended Durmstrang in their youth. If that was true, Charlotte probably knew exactly where the school was. It was equally likely that if that was the case, she was completely unable to say anything on the topic.

Another person who had been acting a bit strange since arriving had been Tracey. She'd been shooting frequent, furtive glances in Harry's general direction, but had remained almost completely silent for the entire hour-plus discussion. Harry had a feeling he knew exactly what she wanted to talk to him about. With a slight jolt, he remembered what Emily had said about Natural Legilimency giving him small, conversational insights. He wondered if something like that was his natural affinity for the offensive half of the Mind Arts at work, and how much of it was his own natural intellect.

He supposed it really didn't matter either way. The important thing was that he did come to these revelations, not how he came to them. That was one thing Dumbledore did seem to have right, as much as Harry despised him, it was the actions that made a man. He'd publicly preached as such for years. As hypocritical as it might have been in the old man's case, it was very true when applied on a more broad scale.

Eventually, Harry had to leave the common room. He and Grace had agreed that they would meet that night, despite it being her first night back at the castle. It was a Sunday. Sundays were the days they spent working diligently to improve Harry's skill in Active Occlumency. With the suspicion of both Albus Dumbledore and Gilderoy Lockhart resting heavily upon his shoulders, Harry couldn't help but feel as if mastering the defence of his own mind was more essential now than ever before.

He wasn't terribly surprised when, about halfway down the first corridor on his way, his ring alerted him to a presence coming up behind him. Normally, this would worry him greatly, but he had expected to be followed. After all, he could read his friends quite well. Whether Legilimency had an impact or not was irrelevant.

"Evening, Tracey."

"How did you know it was me?" the girl in question asked after catching up and matching his stride.

He looked pointedly towards her. "I sort of told you this during the summer at Daphne's, but you're not exactly the most subtle person in the world."

She blushed. "What gave me away this time?"

"Nothing specific, actually." He paused, rethinking that sentiment. "Well, there was one thing, I guess. You hardly said a word the entire time we were in the common room. I mean this in the best way possible, but you are not the quiet type."

Her blush only grew deeper, something that amused Harry a fair bit more than it probably should have. Sometimes, he wondered exactly how Tracey had ended up in Slytherin House.

She wasn't the most cunning person he'd ever met in his life, if he was being completely honest with himself. She was certainly intuitive. She could read other people and conversations rather well and react accordingly. She was good with emotions, as she had told him in the summer, but he wouldn't describe her as cunning. Certainly not in the same way as he, Blaise and Daphne. As for ambition… he actually had no idea. He wasn't really sure what any of his friends wanted to do with their lives. He supposed they were only twelve.

This thought only brought his mind back to his somewhat jarring conversation with Giaus Weitts, a conversation that had occupied much of his thoughts for the past seventy-two or so hours. He knew that at the moment, thinking about that conversation wasn't going to be conducive to guiding him through this one. So with that in mind, he forcefully cleared his thoughts and looked impassively upon one of his best friends once more.

"What is it, Tracey? Don't get me wrong, I like talking to you, but last time you were this sneaky about it, It was a pretty… heavy conversation."

"Is it really that obvious?"

His lips twitched. "Maybe, I don't know. I might just be that perceptive, who knows."

"Oh, you're definitely that perceptive, but I'm still curious if it's obvious."

"Does it really matter? If I really am that perceptive, I was surely going to work it out either way, wasn't I? Besides, you obviously want to talk with me. You wouldn't have followed me out of the common room if you didn't. So I doubt you're complaining that I've figured it out in advance."

"Merlin, Harry!" she exclaimed. "I know you're trying to be helpful in your own way, but do you have any idea how jarring that is? How much it messes with your brain when the other person just seems to read your thoughts and know everything you're thinking before you can even say it?"

He did, actually. That question gave him hard flashbacks to the Weitts's Samhain gala. The one where he'd first met Charlotte properly. The one where he had first learned of the arts that were Occlumency and Legilimency.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know you might want to talk to me, but I have no idea what it's going to be about."

That wasn't true. He thought he actually knew exactly what this was about, but he didn't say that. It was best to make Tracey more comfortable if he could. He was certainly about to be a whole lot less comfortable, emotional suppression or not. It was only right that she at least be calm for the duration of this conversation.

It didn't seem to work. She didn't say it, but Harry was reasonably certain she'd seen through his lie. It wasn't the first time he'd thought it, but that was the one problem with having sharp friends. They were rather more difficult to deceive.

"How much time do you have?"

He shrugged. "Not a whole lot, actually."

"I didn't think you'd have much time, so I'll try and make it quick. I just wanted to check in."

A long pause, and then finally, Tracey summoned up the courage to ask the question she had obviously been intent on asking ever since her arrival back at the ancient castle. "How are you feeling?"

"You're going to have to be more specific, Tracey. I feel perfectly fine, at the moment."

"You know what I'm talking about!" She didn't sound angry. Just extremely exasperated and mildly frustrated. It wasn't that Harry was trying to be an ass. He just sorely wanted to avoid this topic of conversation. He was pretty sure at this point his deflections, delays, and subversions were actually subconscious.

He sighed. "I had to think about this a lot, you know? Do you know who first told me they died, Tracey?" She shook her head. "Dumbledore. A day after he basically accused me of being the Heir of Slytherin, he told me that my uncle had been found dead. Then a couple of days later, he sent me a letter that told me my aunt had also been found dead in her own home." Tracey had very obviously wanted to jump in when Harry said that Dumbledore suspected him of being the Heir of Slytherin, but in light of the current topic of discussion, she had restrained herself.

"And," Tracey asked, clearly putting in great effort to keep her voice calm and modulated. "What did you decide?"

"The same thing I've known all along. That I really don't care."

Tracey had doubtlessly expected a lot of things. Judging by the suddenly gobsmacked expression on her face, that hadn't been one of them.

"It's like what I told Daphne last year. They don't matter. I learned years ago to stop caring what they think about me, because it had no impact on my life. Once I learned that, my life got a whole lot easier. It's like that here. They were never going to be important. I was never going back there. I already had plans in motion to make sure I never went back there. I wasn't ever going to see them again, if I had it my way. I mean, I wasn't exactly fond of them. Abuse and neglect for ten years didn't exactly make me love them.

"I'm not trying to sound cold-hearted, or anything. I'm not happy they're gone. I think they probably deserved to be punished, even though I didn't care enough to do it myself, but I don't know if they deserved to die for it. That seems a bit harsh, but again, I'm indifferent. It has no effect on me. If anything, I might feel a bit sorry for their son." He made a face. "At least, I would if he hadn't been such an utter prat for the entire time I knew him. I try not to hold it against him too much, but I'm not good at the whole forgiveness thing. It isn't exactly like he had good role models growing up."

Silence stretched on between them as Harry drew ever nearer to the suit of armour that served as the entrance to the hidden passage which would greatly expedite his journey to the abandoned classroom in which he practiced with Grace.

He intended to ask her whether or not he could use the room on Tuesday nights and Saturday afternoons to practice with Charlotte. He had no qualms in telling her about their arrangement, as it would actually show he was holding up his end of the bargain. He had no doubt she would happily agree, but he still wanted to ask. It would have been rather awkward if she'd barged into a practice with Charlotte halfway through.

Tracey briefly reached out and gave his hand a quick squeeze. As had become his common practice, Harry used occlumency to suppress any impulse to flinch, tense or pull away.

"That's a very mature answer," she said with a small smile, evidently realizing he was nearing the place where he would split off from her. "Just know that I'm here if you need me."

He smiled back at her before ordering the suit of armour aside and vanishing into the secret passageway behind it. "Thanks, Tracey. I'll remember, don't worry."

* * *

_**January 5, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons**_

_**9:13 PM**_

Two nights later, Harry found himself locked up in the same room he often frequented with Grace. This time, it was not the older, but the younger of the two Weitts sisters who joined him in the room. He realized very quickly that he actually had no idea how good Charlotte was at duelling. She was very good at Charms and obviously prodigious in the Mind Arts, but that was about as far as he'd known.

Thus, he swiftly found himself locked in a mock duel with the youngest member of House Weitts in an effort to judge her abilities, and he couldn't help but be impressed.

She would have beaten any of his second-year friends easily. Not that Harry had an overly accurate gauge on any of them as duellists, but he had seen them duel at the one, and likely only meeting of the Hogwarts Duelling Club, and that had been enough.

Charlotte was good.

There was no doubt about it. There was a wide skill gap between her and himself, but that was to be expected. If her grandfather was to be believed, he was a genuine prodigy. He had also been trained by not only her older sister, but by Lady Voldemort herself. He wondered how she would fare against Nott, or even his brother. He doubted she would be able to beat Charlus as of yet. His brother may have been an idiot, but he was actually a very good duellist for their age.

Charlotte's spell arsenal was a bit limited, but she was extremely talented at the limited amount of spells she knew and was very creative with them. She also knew the Stunning Spell, a rather impressive feat for a first-year student. On top of that, she was powerful. Very powerful. He could tell that from the get-go. Any time one of her spells flared against his shield, he could feel it groan in protest. It always held, but she packed a punch, to say the least.

Unfortunately, power was very far from everything, and her defence was nowhere near as sound as her offence, so Harry beat her quite thoroughly and without too much issue.

"Merlin, you're good," she muttered after Harry tossed her back her wand. "I knew you were good and all, but… wow. Isn't spell deflection like… really advanced?"

He shrugged. "Hurst — our Defence professor last year — was an absolutely brutal marker and was really hard on me in particular. I wanted an O+ and I thought spell deflection would do it."

"Did it?"

Harry suppressed a smug smile. "It did, yes."

"I wonder what it will take from Lockhart? He seems a pretty harsh marker."

"Not compared to Hurst."

"So not spell deflection, then."

"I mean… it would definitely get you the grade, but it might be overkill."

"Do you think I could learn it?"

"Probably. Legilimency might help out with that. You have to know the intent coming your way, so it would be useful that way as long as the person you're duelling doesn't know Occlumency. Probably dangerous to rely on it though. It would be a nasty shock if it suddenly didn't work." Charlotte nodded as Harry ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. "I think the hardest thing would be the actual batting of the spell. That part is a nightmare to get down. You have to be perfect."

"I'm ready to try."

Harry smiled amusedly. "Not yet."

"But you said I-"

"Yes, you probably can learn it, but it would probably take ages and it's definitely not a good place to start. Once you have other, more important things down, maybe we can work on spell deflection. First, let's just start with a Protego shield. Aegis Vocar isn't overly useful if you're fighting anybody who knows anything more powerful than Expelliarmus, and your defence needs work."

Charlotte winced. "Alright. Let's get started then."

Again, Harry felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Oh, how many times he'd said that since his integration into the magical world.

* * *

_**January 7, 1993**_

_**The Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom**_

_**2:30 PM**_

Green eyes bored into blue as Harry and Lockhart had a rather intense staring match after the latter had once more instructed the former to stay behind after class. Of course, Harry was wary that Lockhart may try to legilimize him. The problem was that he couldn't exactly look away without looking extremely guilty. He did suppress all emotion and keep his mind completely blank while constantly searching for any irregularities as they stared deep into the other's eyes.

Emotional suppression had been an extremely valuable asset while working with Grace to develop basic, mental defences. A Legilimens would cling desperately onto emotion and warp it and use it to dive further into that person's mind. By being able to crush all emotion with a thought, he was thereby providing the attacking Legilimens with one less avenue to exploit. There was also the fairly major benefit that, without emotions in the way to cloud your thoughts, detecting intrusions was much less difficult.

Finally, Harry became fed up with the posturing and just decided to push this along. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Don't get smart with me, Potter." Lockhart's voice was quiet and deadly serious. "I know what you did to your brother."

"If you know what I was accused of, surely you also know that my own father cleared me."

Lockhart's face twisted into something ugly. "Your brother isn't the Heir of Slytherin, Potter-"

"No, he's not. He is definitely not competent enough to make it this long without getting caught."

"I am serious, Potter."

"Yes, so am I. What's your point?"

Lockhart's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to irritate me?"

"Not really. I just know that no matter what I say or do, you're going to think a certain way about me. Nothing I say or do is going to change that. I've met those types of people before, so why should I filter myself?" He looked pointedly at Lockhart. "For the record, I am comparing you to people who were neglectful and abusive for ten years. Not the greatest comparison, but accurate."

If nothing else, the Dursleys were one hell of a conversational weapon. It was a great way to throw people off-kilter. Harry had a hard time mentioning them at all, but with emotional control augmented by Occlumency, it was as easy as saying anything else. At least when he spoke of them in a clinical manner as he had done during this specific conversation.

"I am… sorry to hear that." To the man's credit, he genuinely sounded it, but he regained his gusto quickly enough. "Nevertheless, I won't let guilt blind me. Your brother is not the Heir, yet he can speak to snakes. Do you know what one unique thing is about Parseltongue, Potter?"

"No, sir. I didn't even know about Parseltongue until Charlus spoke to the snake. I was muggle raised. The only thing I knew was that Slytherin could speak to snakes."

His delivery was perfect. He could tell at once Lockhart would never believe it, but it wasn't as if he could prove it, and plausible deniability was a valuable asset when being accused. Harry would know. He'd been accused of a vast number of ridiculous things in his life.

"Well, Parseltongue is hereditary. It passes down through bloodlines. Whether you know this about your family or not, they have always been secretive."

"So you think because my brother can speak to snakes, so can I?" Lockhart's expression made it very clear that much was supposed to be obvious. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Professor, but I can't speak to snakes. Can I leave now?"

Lockhart looked extremely annoyed, but with a fair bit of reluctance, he dismissed Harry, allowing him to leave the room with a completely blank expression.

That man was far too suspicious for Harry's liking.

Yet he did have a point.

Obviously, the Potters had hidden some sort of blood connection to Slytherin. Harry was currently more worried about continuing to progress in magic, but he would be tracking that down one day.

One never knew the door something like that could potentially open in the future.

* * *

_**Later that night, in Gilderoy Lockhart's office…**_

Gilderoy Lockhart was frustrated.

For one thing, this whole Chamber of Secrets business was a mess. It wasn't as if he wanted it to be Potter. He would much prefer a twelve-year-old boy not be responsible, and he would happily apologize to the boy in question if he was wrong, he just really didn't think he was.

All of the evidence, granted, limited evidence, pointed in Harry Potter's direction with large, flashing arrows. If the obvious similarities between the boy in question and the tall, dark-haired woman who would one day become Lady Voldemort were influencing his thought process, so be it.

But that wasn't what had Gilderoy Lockhart frustrated.

Well, it was certainly frustrating, but it wasn't at the top of his list of concerns, at least.

That would be Charlus Potter. What a mess that was.

Gilderoy Lockhart had one, singular goal in life.

That goal would be exponentially more difficult to achieve if the supposed saviour of Magical Britain was inept. That was clearly the case based on recent events. He was magically powerful, reasonably skilled, if not prodigious, but inept in other areas.

That would not do.

Gilderoy had planned months ago to intervene no later than Samhain. He had become suitably distracted by all of the business pertaining to the Heir of Slytherin, but he would no longer allow that to be the case.

It was time to do something about the Boy-Who-Lived's many ineptitudes.

* * *

_**January 8, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Harry's first week of class in the new year had been extremely busy, but the hassle of the week had ensured it passed quickly. Adding an extra commitment- that being to train Charlotte in combat magic on Tuesday's, and have her train him in Legilimency on Thursday's- had just made his schedule all the more hectic.

Granted, they hadn't actually started on Legilimency this week. Charlotte had apparently taken out a book from her family library and wanted to do some studying before starting that practice. Legilimency had always come rather easily to her, as she had put it. She wanted to ensure she actually knew what she was doing as a teacher first, especially since he was not, as of yet, a stage three Occlumens.

Tonight was another one of his commitments: combat training with Grace. If what she'd said on Sunday was to be believed, they would be starting something quite major tonight, so he was looking forward to it. It was also, if he had his way, going to be the night he finally asked her opinion on the dark magic debate.

As he'd expected, she was already waiting for him. "How has your first week back been?" she asked once he had taken a seat across from her.

"Same as ever, really. I did coach Charlotte in combat magic for the first time on Tuesday though."

"How did that go?"

"Pretty well, I think. I don't really know what I'm doing as a teacher, so I just hope it all works out. I had a quick mock duel at the beginning - like you did with me - and noticed that her offence was actually pretty good. Her defence was a bit sloppy though, so I decided to start with the Protego shield."

Grace nodded approvingly. "Very advanced for a first year, but not impossible to learn and it will give her an immediate advantage against anyone her age."

"Those were my thoughts as well. It was one of the first things I focused on last year once I read up on it."

"I approve." She paused. "Speaking of things far above grade level, I've decided to try and teach you something that is way beyond what most your age should technically be able to do."

"What's that?

"Non-verbal spell casting."

Harry leant back in his chair, bewilderment evident in his expression. "Isn't that… N.E.W.T level magic?"

"It is."

"And you think I can do it?"

"Not right away but with practice, yes, I think you can absolutely do it."

Harry ran a hand through his hair; a habit of his whenever stressed, anxious, or overly thoughtful. "What makes you think I can do it as a second year?"

"For one thing, it isn't as difficult as people make it out to be. For another, you already can do it for spell deflection."

"Yes, but that's one spell."

"That part is irrelevant. If you can do it for one spell, it means the capability is there. There's no reason why, with practice, of course, you shouldn't be able to do it for other spells as well."

She had a point there. It was logical, if nothing else. Not that Harry was really in a position to say one way or the other. His knowledge on non-verbal spell theory was practically non-existent.

"Care to explain why it's so much harder to cast magic without an incantation?"

"There are two main reasons. There is a concept that is never taught at Hogwarts. Some call it the four pillars of magic. We don't need to go into that in detail, but for a spell to work, there are four things you need. The power to cast the spell, which is usually a minimal and basically a redundant requirement. The understanding of the spell. The necessary intent to cast the spell, and the creativity to envision the desired results.

"It's the fourth one that's affected most directly. Visualization is usually something many struggle with because incanting a spell aloud greatly decreases the need for visualization. The exception for this is in Transfiguration. You still need to visualize the results quite intensely, but not even close to as much as you would need to if you weren't speaking an incantation.

"The other reason also pertains to visualization, as well as overall focus. Our brain is a thing of habits and cues. For example, if somebody is to forget something, you might cue them by saying other things related to it." Harry nodded.

"By associating an incantation with a spell, it makes it easier to pull up the visualized image and the intent. By saying the incantation, it cues your brain to pull the image and intent forward. It's the same for channeling magic. All of this focus, imagery and intent, is how you end up channeling the magic in the specific way needed. Again, with an incantation based cue, your body- which is obviously connected to your brain- is prompted intuitively to channel the magic in the way it remembers. When you take incantations away, you lose all of those advantages."

Harry bit his lip. "If I admit something to you for the sake of asking a question, can you promise me you won't go spreading it around?"

Grace looked pointedly towards him, almost appearing exasperated. "If it isn't obvious by now, which it should be, you can tell me anything. I won't go telling anyone your secrets, and there are very few people in the world who could take them from my mind."

Harry took a deep breath. It really wasn't even a major admission. It was just conceding an advantage he might have by not admitting it. The element of surprise. Of the person opposite him not knowing that he would remember every word they said. But he could trust Grace. She had proven that much to him.

"I have a very good memory. As in a near eidetic memory."

Grace looked thoughtful. "And you're wondering if this will make learning non-verbal spell casting easier?" He nodded. "I would say it probably would. Your mind would take far less cueing naturally, so learning it might be easier. You also have your Occlumency. Keep your mind clear and the intent will flow more easily." She paused. "That's another subskill you should invest some time into. It's the only other one that level two has to offer, and it is much easier than the first one you learned."

"What's that?"

"Compartmentalization. Basically, it just means you can organize your thoughts. It helps people with memory recall, which obviously isn't useful for you. What would be useful for you is that you can organize your mind so that it flows more quickly. It isn't giving you a boost in intellect, per se. just making your thoughts more clear, less diluted. You'll be able to make connections more quickly. You actually sort of start doing it naturally around where you're at right now anyway, but not to the same extent as if you focus on it." He nodded again. He would read up on it later- as well as ask Emily for any shortcuts she might know of. "Are you ready to begin?"

An hour or so later, Harry had still been completely unsuccessful in the endeavour. Grace was hardly surprised. As she reminded him, it was much higher-level magic than he'd been learning so far. It would also be extremely useful and grant him a massive advantage over most students in the school if he could master it. That was another thing she didn't fail to remind him of. He would give her one thing — she knew how to motivate him.

With their core lesson complete, Harry finally decided it was time to ask the question he had been meaning to ask her for so long. "Grace?"

"Yes?"

"What are your thoughts on dark magic?"

She suddenly looked rather pensive. "Be more specific. I think you can guess my stance on the Ministry banning things they classify as dark."

"The whole idea of being addicted to dark magic."

She studied him. "I'm not the first person you've asked this question to." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement.

"You're not," he admitted.

She looked thoughtful. "I'm going to assume you know the main points already then and just briefly confirm what you probably already know. It is completely rubbish. Casting extremely powerful magic causes a bit of a rush. The Ministry bans plenty of these spells because, frankly, they're not equipped to deal with them. The only other way 'dark magic' can be addictive," she drew air quotes around the words, "is if you cast on pure emotion.

"It's like what I told you with cues. If you train your brain to associate a negative emotion with casting a spell, of course it's going to be dangerous to cast that spell. I think witches and wizards should be free to learn almost any magic they like, so long as their mind is prepared to handle it." She gave him a pointed look. "And before you ask, yes, I think your mind is ready to handle it."

He didn't fail to notice how she had worded that last statement. Almost all magics. He wondered what magic Grace viewed as so harmful it should be left well enough alone. Idly, his mind strayed towards Chaos Magic, but he had no way of knowing whether or not Grace even knew of it. For obvious reasons, he wasn't about to ask.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office…**_

"Ah, Charlus, please sit down. We have much to discuss." Charlus swiftly complied, taking the now familiar seat across from the Hogwarts Headmaster. "I must congratulate you on managing to stay out of trouble for an entire week. After the cluster of chaos that comprised your final days of term, in addition to the fiasco on the evening of December twenty-fifth, I think it an accomplishment worthy of acknowledgement."

Charlus flushed. "I'm sorry about all of that, sir."

"Nonsense, my dear boy. The only occurrence you need to be apologetic for is the most recent one pertaining to Polyjuice Potion. It is very illegal to be caught with possession of that particular potion. Why, I believe your father is being charged by Lords Carrow and Warrington on your behalf as we speak."

Charlus choked. "He… what?"

"Indeed. They could have sought punishment for you, but it appears they may be more interested in financial payment. After the exorbitant amounts of gold they spent on Lady Voldemort's campaign during the Purity War, I cannot say I am entirely surprised." Charlus looked down at his hands, suddenly rather ashamed of his actions. "Beyond that, there are a multitude of things that could have gone horribly wrong whilst brewing that potion. I am sure young Miss Granger can vehemently attest to that."

It was true. That botched transformation due to mistakenly using a cat hair had been problematic to say the least. It hadn't worn off as normal after the full hour had elapsed, and it had taken a fair bit of effort on the part of Madam Pomfrey to reverse it at all.

"Is my father upset with me, sir?"

"He is certainly not pleased, but he can hardly judge you too harshly. What with the exploits he and his group of marauding friends got up to while they resided in these walls. No, I would say a more apt sentence would be that your father is mildly disappointed in you."

That was so much worse. He wondered if Dumbledore knew that, knew what kind of impact the precise wording of that sentence would have on the youth in front of him.

"Alas," the old man continued, "I did not call you into my office to lecture you on the shortsightedness of youth. I have a more serious matter I would like to discuss with you."

Charlus felt his stomach contract. More serious than illegal possession of Polyjuice Potion? Merlin, this was going to be a long meeting. "W-what is it you wanted to speak to me about, sir?"

"The mental instability that was brought on by your misguided foray into the Dark Arts."

Ah… that. Charlus hated his brother for that. Hated him for leading him down that path just as much as he hated him for potentially being the Heir of Slytherin. "What about it, sir?"

"Though I am confident you are no longer pursuing that particular area of magic, I have no doubt that the damage has been done, to an extent. It also exposed a rather blatant weakness that I think is unwise to be allowed to persist. Least of all when considering your public standing- and the myriad of people who would doubtlessly wish to manipulate your mind in the future- be it through direct or indirect methods."

"I… don't understand, sir?"

"No," Dumbledore said heavily, "I am sure you don't." He studied Charlus intensely. "Have you ever heard of Occlumency, Charlus?"

* * *

_**Hours later, on the second floor…**_

Invisible and completely undetectable to all but the most skilled wielders of magic, the Heir of Slytherin crept stealthily along a corridor near the out-of-order bathroom on the second floor.

Of course, there were other ways she could have entered the Chamber that would have required less of a walk, but Emily Riddle needed to think.

Merlin, how nice it was to have cognitive thought once more. Thinking coherently while controlling another's body was no small feat. Doing one was difficult enough. Combining the two of them was an accomplishment in and of itself.

But of course, it was no problem for her. Nothing involving magic had ever been a problem for her.

It was why, one day, Emily had no doubts she would be the greatest wielder of magic the world had ever seen. The path had changed now, of course. She had planned to accomplish this in the 1940s as opposed to the 90s, but she would take what she could get.

First things first, she needed to get her own body back.

Just because she could move in this body didn't mean it was ideal by any stretch of the imagination. It limited her greatly, and that wouldn't do.

But she could not rush.

One at a time, the pieces would fall into place.

As a matter of fact, she was off to set one up now, but when the piece fell, it would accomplish more than any before it had.

Not only would it push her one step closer to true resurrection, but it would realign the board in a way that she might cross without peril. Realign the board in a way that, with future, precise movements, she might begin to sate much of the curiosity that had been eating her alive for the better part of the school year.

Yes, Emily Riddle was a very curious person. This was only often a pity for those few, rare individuals who managed to hold her undivided attention.

* * *

_**January 10, 1993**_

_**The Dungeons**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Harry tried to pull his racing thoughts under control as he neared the room for yet another session with Grace. He'd promptly split from Daphne and Charlotte- who had been walking with him from the Great Hall- not only because of his fast-approaching obligation, but also because he didn't trust the latter not to glean part of what he was feeling.

He had received a letter at dinner, a letter that made him feel all kinds of ways.

A letter from Peter Pettigrew.

One assuring Harry that he, Peter, didn't think it at all possible that Harry was responsible for any of the atrocities that he was being suspected of. He even went as far as to call the very notion of such things "completely ludicrous."

To most people, this would have been reassuring.

But not for Harry.

Harry knew what Peter had done, for there could be nobody else who had twisted Charlus's mind and set him up so perfectly in the closing days of Hogwarts's opening term.

Which meant two things.

Peter Pettigrew was lying. Which, in turn, meant that all of Harry's suspicions about the man had been true.

He had been manipulating him all along, and Harry needed to tread more carefully around Peter Pettigrew than ever before.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, on the ground floor...**_

Daphne marched quickly and assuredly towards the library, cursing the name of Gilderoy Lockhart. Defence had never been her best subject as it was. She was good at it, but not fantastic. The man made it so much more difficult by being such a stickler for theory, which meant now, she had to split from Charlotte- who had been on her way to ask Professor Flitwick about an extracurricular Charms project- and head to the library alone.

And though Daphne couldn't know it, it also meant she was now perfectly in position.

Well, she did know it, actually, just far too late to prevent it.

She knew it when she walked around the very next corner, hearing nothing of what awaited her in advance.

She froze where she stood, immediately succumbing to nothingness as she peered directly into a large pair of bulging, yellow eyes.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I did call it Extreme Escalations for a reason… It might have been a rather short chapter, but I would like to think its impact makes up for that fact.**

**I will soon clarify a ton pertaining to the last scenes and others before it, so don't pass judgement upon my soul quite yet.**

**Next: The nuclear fallout of Daphne Greengrass's sudden disappearance leaves chaos in its wake. It seeks to disrupt not only our protagonist, but the very world itself. This fallout is so volatile, in fact, that it nearly brings the nation to its knees.**

**...and that was all before the Heir of Slytherin delivered their chilling ultimatum.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, November 28th, 2020. Or you can join my Discord server and/or support me P*T*E*N to read the next chapter right now.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope and Discodancepant for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	43. SS Ch 25: Extreme Escalations Part II

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100 **

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 25: Extreme Escalations Part II**

* * *

_**January 11, 1993**_

_**The Great Hall **_

_**8:47 AM**_

Harry's eyes roamed once more over both the Slytherin table and the Great Hall at large. They'd been at breakfast for some time now. The post had arrived almost half an hour earlier, yet there was still no sign of Daphne.

She was never late.

That wasn't to say she was the brightest beam of sunshine every morning when forced to rise early — the joys of obligations pressed upon her by the necessity of education — but she was never late.

She was far too proper for that.

The importance of being on time had probably been one of the very first things of significance she had ever been taught as a child. Even if that hadn't been the case, Harry put a fair amount of stock in such things as historical precedence. He could never remember a time in which Daphne had been late to anything, let alone breakfast. When taking his exceptional memory into account, that meant it had never happened.

Which logically meant something about today was different, and not knowing exactly what had Harry on edge. Really, on edge was a fairly mild term to describe how he felt. His nerves were fried, and adrenaline was coursing through his veins. It was as if he were a hungry lion being poked and prodded by a stick, practically being dared to snap at anything within reach. That was the nearest comparable example he could think of when trying to articulate his current temperament.

What made the entire situation all the worse was that neither Tracey nor Pansy had seen her at all that morning. It was true that normally, this would be only slightly troubling. Daphne usually slept with minor, temporary wards around her bed anyway, wards she'd likely learned before ever attending Hogwarts. As abnormal as it may have been, it wouldn't have been too troubling had she just slept in through her alarm and missed breakfast.

It would have been an oddity, and Harry's paranoia would have doubtlessly been piqued, but he wouldn't likely feel quite as worried as he did at present.

What made this situation so concerning was that there were no wards around her bed at all. Minutes earlier, he'd sent Pansy back to the dorm to check the bed itself. She had just returned, suddenly looking rather worried herself. Daphne hadn't been there, and neither had the wards, which only made the list of possible places she could be all the smaller.

Especially these days, with a supposed Heir of Slytherin and a possible monster looming in the many shadows of Hogwarts castle, hiding in their dark patches just out of sight until the moment was most opportune for them to strike.

They would have to report Daphne missing.

There was no other way around it. And if she didn't show up… Harry wasn't exactly sure what he would do.

Murder the Heir of Slytherin if he ever came across them. That much was obvious. If Daphne had indeed vanished, given what she'd caused at Malfoy manor less than two weeks prior, he knew who his first culprit would be.

But beyond that… Harry wasn't sure.

He cherished all of his friends, but Daphne was probably his closest. She was the one whom he'd confided in, told things about himself he had still never uttered to any other. She had promised to be his compass, and in his current shaky state, he thought he would need that compass more than ever.

Yet part of him already knew what the professor's search would turn up.

Harry had a bad feeling about all of this. If for no other reason than the fact the universe seemed to enjoy using him as its punching bag. It didn't seem to need a reason, nor had it at all cared when he had done his best to stay clear of any drama this year.

Because why oh why would it just allow him a simple year at Hogwarts?

Naturally, that would have been much too easy.

* * *

_**That afternoon, in the staff room…**_

Sundays were the days typically enjoyed by much of the Hogwarts staff. There was never a day off per se, what with the hundreds of underaged witches and wizards residing in the castle at all hours of the day. Yet Sundays were the closest they came. Obviously, there were no classes on a Sunday, and most teachers used the day prior to get as much of their marking and whatnot done as possible.

Sunday was supposed to be the day they all did as little as possible. Sure, they would go on their obligatory rounds and the like, but to expect any of them to do anything beyond the bare minimum was an unrealistic expectation.

This was one of the reasons all of them were in such a terrible mood this particular Sunday afternoon.

Their day had been a lot of things, but relaxing most certainly wasn't one of them.

Not with all of them frantically scouring every inch of the castle in search of a girl who now appeared to be the most recent victim of the Heir of Slytherin. The school had even gone into temporary lockdown while the teachers searched every nook and cranny they could find. The students were only to be let out of the common room after this meeting and, even then, many of the staff wondered exactly how long their student's ability to wander freely would last.

Whoever or whatever was causing mysterious instances at Hogwarts, whether it be the Heir of Slytherin or not, had escalated things — that much was clear. It had been horrible enough when Mrs. Norris had been hung from a torch bracket. Worse still when three Gryffindors had vanished in five weeks.

But this was disastrous on a whole other level.

Colin Creevey had been a muggleborn boy. They'd reached out to his parents, but they could do little more than that. As terrible as the situation was, its implications were actually rather minor, if one looked at the situation clinically and objectively.

Relatively, the same thing could be said for the disappearance of the Weasley twins.

They were purebloods, which had certainly caused an unexpected stir, but the Weasleys weren't overly powerful either, from a political point of view. They were also rather close to the Hogwarts Headmaster, who had vehemently promised the family that their twins would turn up and urged them not to look too deeply into the matter.

But this strike had been different.

Daphne Greengrass was no muggleborn. Nor was she the daughter of an Ancient House that had largely fallen out of favour over the past century. She was the heiress to one of the few remaining Founding Houses in Britain. That same family also just so happened to be one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the country, as well as co-leaders of one of the nation's three major political factions.

This wasn't to say that the staff valued Daphne Greengrass above the notorious Weasley twins, nor even the relatively unknown muggleborn boy with the mousy hair and obnoxious, muggle camera.

All of this was to say that — unlike the strikes that had come before it — this attack, or disappearance, or whatever it would end up being categorized as was going to have far-reaching implications; implications that stretched far beyond the walls of Hogwarts castle. Implications that would dwarf the unease that seemed to seep from every brick and being in the ancient boarding school. This wouldn't just shake the castle. This would rock the country to its core, and who knew what the implications would be for the aforementioned castle itself.

The person who likely had the best idea was the person who, at that exact moment in time, strode solemnly through the staff room door, nodding once at the entirety of the staff collected before him as he took his seat at the head of the table and waited for the metaphorical pin to drop.

He didn't have to wait long.

An outpouring of questions doused him, but Dumbledore simply stayed calm, allowing the tide to roll harmlessly off him as he waited for the frantic flock of professors to take his hint and fall silent. The only ones who hadn't immediately pounced with questions were Professors Snape and Lockhart, and the former sneered openly at his peers as he waited for them to quiet.

Only when all at the table had caught on to Dumbledore's unspoken plea for silence did the venerable man speak at long last. The last time they had heard his voice so solemn had been the night of Samhain, nineteen-ninety-one. The night Terence Higgs met his end at the jaws of a monster whose presence in the school Dumbledore himself had authorized. That fact alone spoke to the importance of this moment, and even Lockhart — the only teacher present who hadn't been present on that fateful night — knew exactly how high the stakes currently were.

"I doubt the need to impress upon you exactly how grave the situation at hand has become." All around the table nodded. "After I leave this meeting, I shall need to inform Lord Greengrass of what has happened today. The ramifications of this correspondence will be cataclysmic in their scale. I very much expect a full, emergency meeting of the Wizengamot to be called as soon as the man can rally his allies, and there are a vast number of things that could stem from such a meeting."

"Could they force our closure, Albus?"

Albus looked upon his deputy with a frown. "They will doubtlessly push for this, at least until Heiress Greengrass has been recovered. They will doubtlessly push for a vast number of things, but that does not mean said things will come to fruition. What I do think possible is the request for a change in leadership."

A wave of unrest swept over the gathered professors. None of them were overly optimistic as is. The news that anybody could possibly be pushing for the greatest among them to be removed, in what was perhaps the school's greatest time of need in Dumbledore's time as headmaster, was more than a little bit troubling to all gathered.

"But surely they can't?" Professor Sprout asked worriedly. "Surely they must know what would happen if you were to leave the castle, Albus?"

"Oh, they certainly will not be successful. At least not in the short term. The Wizengamot, for all of its illusions of authority, does not have the power to assign professors, let alone headmasters. The ability to force my removal rests solely in the hands of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. While Lucius Malfoy will doubtlessly try to weaken the faith the board so generously puts in me, I doubt he will be overly successful. It is, however, a crack. Not immediately troubling, but prone to further weathering if the great storm continues.

"I warn you not for what might happen in the coming days, but for what might happen in the coming months, for I fear we stand not near the crest of a long, steep hill we've already climbed; but at the foot of a most trying precipice, one that will doubtlessly be exceedingly difficult to scale."

All of the teachers, minus Snape and Lockhart, looked grim. Most were also noticeably paler than usual.

"That is not to say," Dumbledore continued, "that there will not be some changes in the short term. The Wizengamot does have certain legal powers, after all. I have little doubt they will do everything in their power to impose as much order upon the castle as they can in hopes that it will slow down the mysterious Heir of Slytherin."

"You think the perpetrator to be who they claim to be?" It was Snape who spoke. His voice was thoughtful, hollow, and quiet.

"Oh, I have no doubt they are who they claim to be. How they are making students disappear in the dead of night, I do not know. Yet, I had no idea how students were being petrified fifty years ago, the last time an alleged Heir of Slytherin claimed to have opened Salazar's fabled chamber. Alas, despite the differing circumstances, I am left to believe the same thing as fifty years ago. I doubt what is happening now would be possible if this person was not who they claimed." He frowned deeply. "I also think, in light of the obvious secrets at their disposal, that putting a stop to this madness may not be possible any time soon.

"This is why I warn you, my friends. This is why I warn you to brace yourself for what is to come. As morbid as things may seem now, I have an ominous feeling they will worsen before they improve."

What Dumbledore didn't say aloud was that the last time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, it had only ever been closed because Emily Riddle had essentially taken pity on the lot of them. Sure, it had been the threat of the school closing that had forced her hand, but he doubted whether they would have ever managed to stop her.

It was a card he could play if need be. Threaten the closure of the school and wait to see if the attacks stopped once more.

But two things made that option too troubling to ever be allowed to happen.

One was that if Emily was responsible, she was more than likely acting through another. Harry Potter was his top suspect, but it could easily be some other child in the castle. If this was true, she might not be so merciful upon hearing that news. It might not bring her the same dread it had as a teen. On the contrary, it might prompt her to become more aggressive, which was potentially opportune, but it also had the prospect of being completely disastrous, especially when one didn't even know how she was committing said atrocities.

That wasn't even considering the fact that if she was inhabiting another's body once more, the potential ramifications of closing the castle and letting her roam in the outside world could be cataclysmic.

The other, slightly less noble hesitation was more strategic.

The longer he kept the school open, the longer he allowed her to play her game. That was dangerous, but it also meant more time for her to make a mistake. More time for him to see whether any of his more… troubling suspicions were correct.

Oh, and more time to possibly find the Chamber of Secrets and exactly what lurked within, of course, but Albus would much rather have some other suspicions of his confirmed if truth was to be told.

Their implications would stretch far further than the Scottish highlands if any of them were proven correct.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Speaker's Den…**_

Charlotte would have been taken aback by the majesty of the room around her had she not been just as tense as Blaise and Tracey, the only other two people present. Harry had let them in some time ago with the simple instruction to stay put. If Charlotte's memory served her correctly, it was the first time Harry had ever issued any blunt orders in her presence. Nevertheless, the three of them had swiftly complied and Harry had vanished.

That had been quite some time ago.

The three of them were presently all waiting anxiously exactly where he'd left them. Charlotte would have been awed by the mere existence of this room, a room that was supposedly called the Speaker's Den; one that she hadn't known existed until earlier that day. Yet the surprise was overshadowed by the larger, much more significant news that had rocked her world earlier that day — her best friend had disappeared without a trace.

That was also only part of the reason why the three gathered Slytherins were tense. The other was that none of them had any idea how Harry would react.

Last year, he'd tried to ruin Malfoy's reputation for landing Tracey in a vast number of detentions. Earlier this year, he had brutalized Malfoy in the middle of the common room for using the word "mudblood". It wasn't even that Harry lost control. He did do that sometimes while in the middle of his revenge, but the plotting was usually done with a relatively clear mind. It was just the fact that Harry could be a vindictive bastard when he wanted to be.

But when he did eventually lose control, like he had done in the middle of the Malfoy incident… it was a sight to behold.

It was highly possible they were about to see another instance of this. If that was indeed the case, they had good reason to be nervous. Not for themselves. Harry would never lash out at any of them, but they could only imagine what he could come up with, let alone how he might react.

There was another concern Charlotte had. One that she couldn't confirm the validity of without knowing a lot more about things she currently only suspected about Harry. Things she had basically promised not to go investigating while in one of the dungeon's abandoned classrooms when discussing Milicent Bulstrode and her possible connection to Mulciber and Jugson, as well as potentially older students.

That thought caused anger to bubble inside her, but Charlotte eased it back down. There was no need for that now. She would take revenge on Mulciber and Jugson soon. The timing just hadn't been right, in fact, it was currently worse than ever.

The wall connecting the hidden room to the rest of the dorms slowly slid aside. None of them could actually see Harry; a reality that drew the widening of all three present pairs of eyes, but they could hardly imagine it being anyone else. Sure enough, once the wall slid shut behind him, Harry himself seemed to materialize in front of all of them.

Charlotte shivered. She'd seen that look in his eyes only twice before. Once had been seconds before he'd ruthlessly pounded Malfoy into the floor in front of the entirety of Slytherin House. The other time had been when he'd burst through the door just as Mulciber was about to butcher her with that damned, cursed blade.

Despite the morbid mood of the room, Tracey obviously couldn't help but ask the first question that sprang to her lips. "Wow! You were invisible! How'd you do that?"

Harry waved the question aside, and Charlotte couldn't help but notice how heavily and shallowly he was breathing. It was very unnatural, and it only raised her suspicions further, her hand drifting just a little bit closer to her wand.

"Ring, but it doesn't matter."

Tracey gawked. "I thought it only-"

"Not important, Tracey! Merlin! We have bigger problems right now."

Tracey shut her mouth quickly. Charlotte too was blown away by the implications of Harry's jewelry being able to render him invisible. She, however, knew exactly how unwise it would be to speak at the present moment in time.

That look was not one worn by any who should ever be trifled with.

"She's actually gone." His voice came out in little more than a whisper, but Charlotte couldn't help but think he looked positively demented. Everything about his expression screamed mentally unstable, and she knew now with complete certainty what was about to happen.

"You d-don't mean?" Tracey's question was obvious, but she clearly couldn't will herself to speak anything that might imply Daphne's fate was sealed.

"I don't know!" Harry slammed his fist hard on the table as these words escaped him. He sounded wounded and deranged and looked even worse. He started visibly shaking as his breathing sped up and his skin paled. His eyes visibly glazed over before they clamped shut and he collapsed to the floor, twitching madly as if he were seeing things none of the other three could see.

Tracey screamed his name, but Charlotte barely registered the sound.

She was on her feet at once, wand drawn as she marched towards Harry. Zabini had clearly had the same idea, though instead of a wand, he was holding a familiar-looking vial of potion. Charlotte hadn't even seen him withdraw it. She had no idea where he might have pulled it from, nor did she care.

"Don't waste your time, Zabini." She tried to push him out of the way as she spoke, but the much larger boy didn't so much as budge.

"It's a calming draught, Weitts. Don't be so damn-"

"I'm not paranoid and I know exactly what it is! I'm not an idiot, Zabini, and just because I'm a first year does not mean you know more than me." She could tell he was practically itching to bite back with something, but she never gave him the chance.

"It isn't just a normal panic attack. He's been training in Occlumency. I've known that for ages. There's a point during the creation of permanent Occlumency reflexes where the person's 'shields' are unstable, since those 'shields' are only just trying to work more often than when the person calls on them."

Clearly, she wasn't the only one in the room conscious who had been trained in the Mind Arts. Zabini's eyes had widened. "Fanculo!" Charlotte didn't speak Italian, but she got the gist. "I'm an idiot! That's how he's been so controlled lately. The damned stage two subskill."

"I wasn't aware you were so well-educated when it came to the Mind Arts."

"I have to keep a lot of secrets. Family business. You of all people should understand."

"Oh, I do. Which is exactly why you're going to get out of my way and let me fix this."

"Weitts, the calming draught is the best option. We force it into him and once he calms down he can reconstruct his 'shields.' It will take time — maybe a week, but they'll be back to where they are now by then."

"Or, we get a Legilimens who actually knows how to reconstruct 'shields' to help him through the process and fix them in a few minutes. It would probably knock him unconscious, but it would be a much better solution."

If Tracey was hearing any of this, she didn't comment on their proverbial sparring match. She was knelt over Harry, trying to gently rouse him from whatever panic attack had ensued.

A panic attack that was likely amplified tenfold by the fact that his 'shields' had suddenly and forcefully collapsed.

Doubtlessly, he'd been doing his best to suppress all emotions pertaining to Daphne. Now, all of them would be crashing down upon him with amplified force, since the build-up would only worsen their effects. Not to mention anything else he'd been suppressing at the time. That plus a natural panic attack due to the situation…

Charlotte shuddered internally.

Blaise scoffed as he ground his teeth together. "I'm aware of this, Weitts. But seeing as we don't have a Legilimens just casually on hand-" Charlotte cleared her throat as she straightened, looking every bit the polished pureblood she'd been raised to be.

Blaise just sighed. "Of course you'd be a Merlin forsaken Legilimens. Sure, why the hell not?" he muttered. "I'm guessing you know how to reconstruct basic 'shields' then?" She nodded and he reluctantly stepped aside. "Just… please don't make a mistake."

"Not planning on it," were the last words Charlotte spoke to Blaise before she shoved Tracey out of the way, hard, and immobilized Harry with her wand. It was the only way. If he was twitching like a madman, this would be a whole lot more difficult.

Gently, Charlotte reached forward and pulled one of his eyelids open. She technically didn't need eye contact, but for something she'd never actually attempted before… it was better safe than sorry.

"Legilimens!"

Charlotte's presence slid effortlessly into Harry's mind. As she had suspected, his 'shields' had completely collapsed, and the rest of his Occlumency measures had gone with them. They could be reconstructed to the exact level they'd collapsed at fairly quickly and without much issue. Harry was just at a point where his "shields" were beginning to work around the clock as opposed to on command. This was a major step in one's Occlumency progression, but it was also a particularly unstable one, at least in the beginning.

The upside of his shields being shattered was that she had no problem at all easing into his mind. Not that they would have troubled her much anyway, but the experience — though still unpleasant — would be far less unpleasant for Harry this way. She only hoped he'd forgive the intrusion into his mind. She was technically breaking her promise not to do just that, but it was with his health and safety in mind that said promise was being broken.

As soon as she did enter his mind, she had to firmly clamp down on her own Occlumency.

Merlin, that was a whirlwind of emotions. It was no wonder his Occlumency had collapsed. Emotional suppression was obviously something he'd only gotten the hang of rather recently, and if he had tried to suppress all of this…

Layers of panic were only the beginning. There was also fury, frustration, self-hatred, regret and, above all else — helplessness. Charlotte internally shuddered at the last emotion. Yes, he would be intimately familiar with it if this much of it was constantly bubbling at the forefront of his mind. To think she had once told him he wouldn't understand.

Memories began to flash past her mind. She mentally cursed. She hadn't meant to grasp that feeling of helplessness. She'd allowed her mind to roam onto it. Faster than she could withdraw, memories of Harry being immobilized by Calypso, locked up by his relatives, and other, smaller things flashed past her eyes. In this one instance, being a highly prodigious Natural Legilimens was actually to Charlotte's detriment. It made letting go of that particular strand of thought before all of these images played out rather difficult, primarily because of the speed with which they flashed through her mind.

Before she could withdraw, one final memory flashed through her thoughts. A memory that very nearly made her lose focus completely. She didn't see the whole memory, but she saw a small part of it.

Harry was in a chamber that was unfamiliar to Charlotte. The only obvious feature of the room was a large, ornate mirror in its centre, one Charlotte had never seen before. Off to the side, the Boy-Who-Lived appeared to be bound and helpless. And as Charlotte watched as Harry heard Professor Hurst retell all she had done last year, he too felt the same. As well as a number of the other emotions that dominated his mind at the current moment in time.

None of that, outside of the bit where Charlus Potter was bound and gagged, was what truly shocked Charlotte.

The two revelations which shocked Charlotte were far more significant.

She thanked Merlin for her own proficiency in Occlumency.

If she hadn't been able to suppress all emotion and completely clear her mind a mere second after the memories flashed through her consciousness, she'd have botched the whole operation right there, purely due to those thoughts.

Lady Voldemort was alive.

Or, at least, she had been during this confrontation. Seeing as both of the Potter twins were still alive, Charlotte supposed the current state of the Dark Lady could be questioned.

But the other revelation…

A prophecy.

One that supposedly spoke of a boy destined with the powers to vanquish the Dark Lady? One that Harry had apparently kept mostly in the back of his mind for the better part of the year, primarily because it wasn't as if he could really do anything with the information.

Well, he might be able to, but not that he knew of.

This was all interesting, and the revelations were earth-shattering in their scale and reach, but Charlotte needed a clear mind right now. She shoved all of that into the deep recesses of her thoughts for later evaluation. For now, helping her friend was far more important.

She forced the emotions aside. She needed to deal with those first before she could gently guide his subconscious through the process of rebuilding his mental defences.

That would require a more complex trick than Charlotte was comfortable with. She knew how to do it, but it wasn't exactly something she'd practiced. Yet without it, this whole practice would be moot. There would be no way she would be able to focus on aiding his Occlumency if she were to be assaulted with this much raw emotion the entire time.

With whatever passed as the internal manifestation of a deep, centring breath, she began to push impressions into Harry's mind. Not probes nor intrusions. Not even memories. She pushed emotions into his psyche. Emotions of trust, content, and the feeling of being in control.

Very slowly, his mind calmed. It wasn't a fast process by any stretch, but eventually, the feelings Charlotte was projecting became the dominant ones in his mind and very slowly, she began the mental reconstruction of his Occlumency structure.

The process took several minutes. It needed to be handled very carefully. Charlotte basically had complete control of his mind at the moment. Well, not his mind, per se, but the parts of it which pertained to Occlumency.

His actual brain functions were still very much beyond her. She was good, but not _that _good.

This was both because his shields were down, as well as the fact that by now, he had technically succumbed to unconsciousness.

Oh, and the positive flow of emotions she had fed into his psyche had basically been the equivalent of giving his subconscious a powerful dose of morphine.

The problem with being in majority control of another's mental functions was that you had to handle it very carefully. A lot could go wrong if handled otherwise. Thank Merlin all Charlotte had to do was help reconstruct Occlumency shields. That was actually very basic, because it didn't really require access to any of his mental functions. She was just guiding him through a simple, external process. If it had been any more complicated, she would have been of no use.

Eventually, the process was complete. It was at least done to the best of Charlotte's abilities. When she finally pulled out of Harry's mind, she had an absolutely horrific headache and was rather disoriented.

She tried to stand, but staggered. Blaise Zabini steadied her while she got her balance until she was able to stand a moment later.

"How long was that?" she asked dazedly.

"About ten minutes," Blaise answered.

Merlin, that had taken longer than it was supposed to, and it hadn't even been that complex. However good her Legilimency was, she needed a lot more practice before trying to do anything like that again.

While lost in thought, she hadn't noticed Blaise Zabini straightening importantly, but she did hear the next words he spoke. She'd never heard them before, but she could gauge their significance and infer their meaning just fine.

"I, Blaise Iago Zabini, rising member of Salazar's noble house, hereby call upon my newly forged connection with the greatest of the Hogwarts four and the legacy which he has left behind. In doing so, I hereby invoke Salazar's Sanction upon The Speaker's Den. As magic is my witness."

Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "You can't just impose-" she stopped dead when she felt the familiar magics slide into place.

"I actually had no idea if I could. Harry's done it a couple of times, but I wasn't sure if that was… a unique ability of his. Apparently, it's not." He fixed her with a blank look. "Sorry, Weitts. It's not that I don't trust you, just that I don't trust anybody. I don't know what you saw in his mind, but I'm sure you probably saw things he'd much rather weren't shared around. It was nothing personal, just a precaution."

Charlotte inclined her head and said no more. She certainly didn't say that for however paranoid Blaise Zabini and the rest of his family were, they likely had nothing on the House of Weitts. Something like that was common practice, as far as she was concerned.

* * *

_**Some time later, at Greengrass Manor…**_

Cyrus Greengrass was many things.

Chief among them was a very well-modulated human being. He was, after all, a low fifth-level Occlumens. Even without the augmentation of Occlumency, Cyrus considered himself to be a remarkably calm and carefully controlled individual. He had a very hard time remembering the last time he was left sitting in the centre of a room with his emotions laid bare for the world to see.

That was all true, but none of it reflected his current state of being, nor his positively thunderstruck outward appearance.

When Celia had called him into the sitting room, leaving him no option for a rejection or a delay, she'd been frantic.

This was what first tipped Cyrus off.

Much like himself, she was usually a very well put together individual. Seeing her so obviously flustered had been his first indicator that something major was to come.

His next indicator was when he'd walked out to the sight of his youngest daughter, Astoria, crying as she sat snuggled close into Celia on the sofa.

This was a change.

Astoria had been a rather bubbly child, but she'd taken ruthlessly to Occlumency. That and rapid, natural maturation had changed her greatly. She was far quieter now and, above all else, far less expressive.

This was the second red flag.

He could have had twenty more red flags presented to him in the next fifteen seconds and it wouldn't have mattered. No amount of warning could have prepared him for what came next.

His daughter and heiress was missing.

Nobody at Hogwarts had any idea whether she was even alive, let alone where she might be or what condition she might be found in — if she was ever found, that was. The teachers and house elves alike had apparently spent much of that day scouring the castle for her. Dumbledore himself had spent every passing moment looking for her personally after he returned from the Wizengamot session that morning. A rather uneventful session that Cyrus had also been a part of.

This was not good.

Least of all with the over the top rumours centring around Hogwarts this year. He'd of course read the papers which potentially implicated Harry. Frankly, he didn't believe it one bit. He trusted Daphne. She was an extremely observant young girl and, from his experience, a remarkable judge of character. He didn't believe Harry Potter to be the Heir of Slytherin, or whoever was behind whatever the hell was going on in that castle.

But something was definitely going on in that castle.

Cats showing up petrified and students disappearing at random? None of that was normal. Secretive as ever, Dumbledore had done his best to keep his cards close to his chest. The details that had leaked to the public were extremely limited. Cyrus thought there had to be more, but Albus Dumbledore was ensuring they didn't leak.

That would no longer do.

Not now with his daughter and heiress being caught in the line of fire. It was time to get Dumbledore to spill what the hell was going on at Hogwarts, as well as force some outside intervention.

Daphne would be found.

He wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

But for that to happen, pressure was going to need to be applied.

Serious political pressure.

For that, he needed to make some calls.

* * *

_**Back at Hogwarts, in the Slytherin common room…**_

Charlotte most definitely felt miserable after her foray into Harry's mind, but at least she was conscious.

That was more than she could say for her friend.

This was standard procedure. It had been expected, and he would likely be out for some time, but it didn't make it any more pleasant. Tracey had levitated him into a bed in the centre of another room connected to the Speaker's Den's main parlour. One that had apparently gone unnoticed by Blaise and Tracey until now. Blaise had even reflected that he bet Harry had slept there on occasion without him ever realizing.

Again, this had been expected, and it caused little drama. The only part that did complicate matters was when Snape had decided to march into their common room and demand every single Slytherin student's presence in the dormitory.

It was fortunate that by then, they had already concluded their business in the Den and had been out in the common room already.

They'd been forced to claim that Harry was very sick and asleep in his bed, with a temporary set of wards in place. There had been a rather worrying moment when one of the older students had offered to go and break said wards, but he'd quickly recoiled and recanted the offer when Grace shot him a withering glare.

Once that drama had been sorted, the common room descended into complete silence as Snape surveyed all of them, obviously choosing his words very carefully. Charlotte, Blaise and Tracey had no doubts as to what this would be about.

"As some of you are already aware, and as I am sure the more astute of you have doubtlessly observed, there is one among your number who has been absent today."

If any other teacher were making the address, Charlotte didn't doubt that there would have been a wave of muttering when they paused. Daphne was, after all, a rather prominent political figure, even despite her age. No matter if you're eleven, seventeen, or anything in between, being the heiress of a Founding Twelve family, especially one who co-leads one of the three major political factions in the country will inevitably earn you a considerable amount of attention. It wasn't terribly surprising that many in the common room seemed to know exactly who Snape was referencing.

Every last one of them also seemed to be acutely aware of exactly how serious the matter at hand was, for not a single soul even appeared to consider speaking.

"The staff, elves, and even the Headmaster have spent the entirety of the day scouring the castle for any signs of the missing student. Despite exhaustive efforts on our collective part, we have come up empty-handed." He took another pause. "As I am sure most of you will be aware of by now, the missing student in question is Daphne Greengrass."

There actually was some muttering this time. Snape let it stretch on for five or so seconds, but no longer than that.

"I very much doubt I need to remind any of you of Heiress Greengrass's status in our world. In the same vein, I hope I do not need to elucidate as to the impact her disappearance will have on this castle and the way it is run. For the less perceptive among you, I will give a rather blunt prediction as to how the next number of days might unfold.

"The Neutral Faction will doubtlessly be calling an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot as soon as possible. At this meeting, the Greengrass's family will demand anything they can which will potentially expedite the process of returning their daughter and heiress." His lip curled. "Seeing as all efforts thus far have failed, I see no reason why a room full of politicians who enjoy perpetuating their importance will have any more success.

"Therefore," he continued, overriding the somewhat offended muttering of several more traditional clusters of students, "I anticipate very much that, in the absence of an initial victory, the Wizengamot will impose upon the castle to the best of the body's ability. Doubtlessly, we will have strict protocols to follow, and I expect the body will push for the school's temporary closure at the very least."

This time, he allowed a considerable amount of muttering to stretch on for almost a full minute before he re-asserted himself and spoke once more.

"This is a prediction that I am sure of. It is also one I hope we would all seek to avoid, and therefore I present each and every single one of you with a choice. If you have any suspicions as to what has transpired this year, I urge you to come forward. This may be your final chance to do so before irrevocable damage is wrought upon this castle."

He phrased it in a way that made the action sound almost noble. If any heroic student thought they'd figured something out, they should come forward. His true meaning was obviously less glorified, though it was clear to any in the room with a brain. Which had obviously been the point, since nobody pulling the strings at Hogwarts this year could be anything but sharp.

If you are the Heir of Slytherin or know anything about them, this is your last chance to come forward. If you're caught after this, you will have hell to pay.

Nobody so much as blinked.

Snape nodded curtly. "Very well. If any one of you comes to a… revelation, please come and see me immediately."

The absolute silence in the common room lasted about ten seconds — precisely the amount of time it took for their Head of House to leave.

As soon as he was gone, complete and utter chaos took over the common room. Charlotte exchanged looks with Blaise and Tracy. She was intent on returning to the Speaker's Den immediately until she felt a light brush against her mind.

The presence was familiar and after a mere moment of hesitation, Charlotte let it in, allowing the voice that sounded very much like Grace to speak softly in her head.

"Meet me in the room you use to train with Potter tonight at 8:00. Yes, I know you train with him. Don't argue and don't ask questions. Now isn't the time. We have more important things to deal with than petty, teenage drama."

That was a meeting Charlotte wasn't particularly looking forward to, but she absently pushed her affirmative reply back across the connection her sister had already formed. Simultaneously, she made her way back towards the entrance of the Speaker's Den, where Blaise and Tracey were waiting for her.

Not by choice, but because the room appeared to be locked.

The password had been changed.

"Well," Blaise said dryly, "I suppose we can assume he's awake."

"Leave him be," Tracey said quietly. "He probably just wants to be alone right now."

Blaise looked skeptical. "I don't do well with this whole emotions thing, but are we sure that's a good idea after… earlier."

"I reconstructed his shields," Charlotte reminded him. "I didn't make a mistake. I don't like it either, but I'm sure he'll be fine, and it's not as if we could get into the room anyway."

Like Tracey, she also just knew Harry would need to be alone. The two of them were rather alike and if she'd gone through a similar experience, especially if it had been in front of three of her closest friends, she very well might have locked herself up for days.

She only hoped he wasn't doing anything self-destructive.

* * *

_**Later that night, in a room in the dungeons…**_

Grace Weitts was exceedingly busy.

Not only was she a seventh-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Head Girl of said instituion, but her schedule outside of classes was enough to make most ministry employees cringe.

First and foremost, she was preparing for the rather… unique job she would be taking on once she officially graduated from Hogwarts. It was a job that took a frankly absurd amount of preparation.

Even that was far from all.

On Sundays, Grace helped Harry to hone his abilities with Occlumency, whereas on Thursdays, they focused on combat magic. Wednesdays and Fridays were spent with her little sister.

On Wednesday, Grace would help Charlotte further her practice in Legilimency. Really, all she was doing was sitting there and defending her mind.

Charlotte had actually spent more time researching the offensive branch of the Mind Arts than Grace had. She gave feedback and whatnot, but Charlotte was mostly self-trained at this point. Grace may have been miles ahead of her in regards to Occlumency, but Charlotte was much further on in Legilimency.

Which is why, on Fridays, Charlotte had actually been helping Grace learn Legilimency. Being taught by her younger sister was odd, but Charlotte was a prodigy in the art. Grace had almost completely neglected Legilimency until last July, relying completely on her natural ability. While Grace might still have been considered a prodigy by definition, she didn't look like one in this instance when compared to her sister.

But when it suddenly became necessary that she master Legilimency, her hands had been tied.

To her relief, she was progressing quite rapidly. If not for Charlotte's own, freakish speed of improvement, Grace would have significantly closed the gap between them in the Mind Arts' offensive half.

Today was a Sunday, which meant the two of them technically weren't supposed to meet up at all.

Plans had changed.

Harry had been a ghost since Daphne's disappearance had been announced to the school. He had apparently been sick in bed at the time, but Grace didn't believe any of it. She knew how he tended to react to volatile, emotional situations. She thought it altogether more likely that he was locked up somewhere, buried in his own thoughts. Possibly the room she'd seen Daphne, Tracey and Zabini exiting from last June.

If her sister had covered for him, Grace was pretty sure she would have answers, and she was concerned. About Harry, about Daphne, about Charlotte, about all of them. Plus, if Harry wasn't going to show, she thought that she and her sister might as well get some practice in.

Right on time, Charlotte slipped through the door, and Grace couldn't help but notice how exhausted her little sister looked. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

Charlotte seemed to ponder how to respond as she took her seat. "Not really?" It sounded like more of a question than a statement.

Grace winced. "Sorry, that was a ridiculous question to ask given the circumstances."

Charlotte shook her head as if to clear it. "I'm not going to have a breakdown or anything, but it's… hard." She looked up at her older sister with oddly vulnerable eyes. "Nothing is going to come of the Wizengamot meeting, is it? Nothing that might help get Daphne back?"

"I don't really see how it could," she admitted. "Not right away, at least. Maybe they'll place a team of Aurors here, or something. I doubt it would matter. Headmasters and Headmistresses have supposedly tried to find this Chamber of Secrets for generations. Many of them were the greatest witches and wizards of their ages. If they didn't find it, I don't love the Auror's chances."

"What about catching the Heir of Slytherin? If it even is an Heir of Slytherin."

"Oh, I definitely think it's an Heir of Slytherin." Grace's statement sounded almost bitter. "That's probably more likely than them finding the Chamber, but I'm still not sure if they will actually be able to find the heir or not. If they can't…" she let her voice trail off; there was no need to finish.

"I just want her back."

Charlotte's voice sounded rather small, and Grace rested a gentle hand on her sister's shoulder. "She'll be back, Charlotte."

"But you just said-"

"Oh, even if the attacker gets away with it, I have no doubt she'll be back. I doubt this Heir of Slytherin would just off the heiress of a Founding Twelve family. Aside from the fact that the Heir, whoever they may be, are probably traditionalists, there are far more useful things they could do with her given her standing." Charlotte shivered. "Let's stop talking about this," Grace decided with a sigh. "It's just upsetting you more. I'll let you practice on me tonight, if you're willing."

They did indeed practice for some time, but Grace could tell almost immediately that Charlotte's mind wasn't in it. She seemed distracted, more than if she had just been worried about her friend, and Grace could do little more than wonder what else could possibly be on her baby sister's mind.

What could possibly be on a level of magnitude similar to Daphne Greengrass's disappearance?

* * *

_**January 13, 1993**_

_**The Speaker's Den**_

_**2:49 AM**_

Merlin, it had been a long day and a half.

By now, Harry had gone through so many states of emotion that he practically felt numb. From his state of suspicion and worry, to outright panic, to… whatever the hell had happened after that, to the myriad of emotions in the past twelve or so hours.

He'd felt mildly guilty for locking his friends out of the Speaker's Den by changing the password, but he'd needed to be alone with his thoughts more than anything. He hadn't even been sure how he'd felt, and he really had no desire to interact with anyone at that point in time.

There were also the vague memories he did think he had from when he'd been unconscious. A foreign presence in his mind. One he thought he recognized, though how he had no idea.

A presence that had learned the truth about Voldemort's continued survival. And possibly about the prophecy.

He hadn't thought much on the prophecy since June, actually. Voldemort had thought it had already been fulfilled. What she said certainly did seem to indicate just that, though he supposed there was always the possibility that she was wrong. Even if that was the case, he wasn't entirely sure it mattered anymore.

Dumbledore was a lot of things. In Harry's opinion, a liar was definitely one of them.

Yet he didn't think the Headmaster had lied to him about Charlus being the Boy-Who-Lived. It wasn't as if he knew enough of said magics to make an educated guess one way or the other, but it had somehow seemed quite genuine to Harry. And even if the prophecy somehow indicated him as opposition to Charlus, what could he really do? If fate itself had ordained it...

That wasn't to say he didn't want to know.

He most certainly did.

He was, after all, a very curious person by nature. He was also a person who despised feeling helpless. That meant he hated the very existence of the prophecy, but perhaps knowing it would lessen those feelings? He supposed it would likely depend on the contents.

There was no good in pondering it. He had no idea how one even went about hearing a prophecy, and if Dumbledore had heard it and had any control whatsoever, Harry would never get anywhere near it in the first place. Obsessing over something of that nature was a waste of energy, so he hadn't spent much time considering its existence at all.

But still… for somebody else to be aware of it was troubling. They had been in the Den, so perhaps Charlotte — if indeed it had been Charlotte — wouldn't be able to speak of it? But he hadn't been awake to invoke Salazar's Sanction, so perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part. Blaise or Tracey might by now have memorized the wording, particularly if Blaise knew Occlumency, which Harry thought to be very likely.

Perhaps he had been able to invoke it, but even then, Harry was unsure.

He was a Parselmouth, and it was increasingly likely that the Potters had some sort of connection to the Hogwarts founder. Perhaps being fluent in the language of serpents wasn't necessary. Perhaps the same could be said for having a direct connection to Slytherin. Perhaps being in the man's house was enough, but perhaps it wasn't.

Harry had no idea.

He would continue to have no idea unless Blaise or Tracey had tried and he asked them about it later.

Not that this was even the first time he'd thought of this today. He had spent the whole day locked up in the Den, thinking a vast array of things.

He was by now growing restless, and he knew sleep wouldn't come. Even if it did, it would be so fragmented by his inevitable nightmares that Harry counted himself wholly uninterested in the endeavour.

He knew wandering the school at this time of night was idiocy. What with an Heir of Slytherin lurking the halls who seemed not to care about blood or station. This fact seemed to be furiously glaring at him for his complete lack of regard, but he couldn't will himself to care. Any more waiting around would drive him completely and utterly mental.

Part of him had to resist the urge to creep into his dormitory and kill Draco Malfoy on the spot. It seemed too coincidental that the Malfoy Heir had been sabotaged by Daphne less than two weeks ago and then the girl in question mysteriously vanished. It wasn't impossible that Draco could have put her ploy together. Harry did doubt it, but it wasn't impossible. Neither, he supposed, was Draco Malfoy being the Heir of Slytherin.

But he doubted it.

He very highly doubted it.

Draco didn't seem nearly competent enough. He had surprised Harry with the Blinding Curse during their one-sided duel, but that was different.

Knowing a vile curse and being able to get away with all of this weren't in the same league when comparing their scale, nor their complexity.

Malfoy also had no known connection to Slytherin. Pansy had checked. She'd been checking the family lineages of every Slytherin she could think of. Which, coincidentally, happened to be each and every single one of them. When it came to gossip, Pansy's memory seemed to put even Harry's to shame. It was just a shame it didn't often extend onto other, more useful topics.

No, he really didn't think the Heir of Slytherin was Draco Malfoy, though a small, terrible part of him still wanted to slit the boy's throat in his sleep just on the off chance that he did have anything to do with hurting Daphne.

One thing was for certain as he crept his way towards the exit of the Speaker's Den. Whomever the Heir of Slytherin was, they'd made it very personal, intentional or not. Harry didn't give a shit how Gryffindor it was. They had attacked his closest friend. Staying out of trouble was now firmly off the table. He would be Slytherin about it. He would go about it in as low key and low risk a way as possible, but Harry was going to unmask the Heir of Slytherin.

And when he was done with them, it wouldn't matter that they'd been unmasked. Whether their face was visible or not would be of no consequence, as the corpse would likely be battered past recognition.

But that would come later.

For now, he had some questions for Emily Riddle.

* * *

_**January 14, 1993**_

_**The Wizengamot Chambers**_

_**9:00 AM**_

During most meetings, the ancient chambers of the Wizengamot were dominated by a mundane sense of monotony as the members of Magical Britain's governing body prepared themselves for an inevitably predictable day of dry, repetitive procedures. It was very rare this wasn't the case. On those rare occasions in question, most of them tended to be unscheduled, emergency gatherings of said governing body. Emergency meetings which had once practically been weekly, but were now extremely scarce, almost unheard of in the past number of years.

Yet it was on January fourteenth, nineteen-ninety-three when one of these meetings took place. It was on that same day that the nearly millennia-old chamber was humming with tension the likes of which the procession hadn't seen in well over a decade. Perhaps not since the infamous Death Eater Trials. Perhaps not even since the first and most notorious — the trial and conviction of Sirius Black.

On this crisp, cloudy, January morning, with both the voters and visitors sections packed past capacity, that was exactly the kind of atmosphere that permeated the room. Every hair on everybody seemed to stand on end, and it was as if everyone in the room had been simultaneously subjected to a harsh electric shock, such was the tension visible in each and every body.

Of said bodies, almost every single one of them, voters and visitors alike, were exchanging hushed words with those beside them. All of these low voices conjoined into something far more, giving the impression of a constant, droning herd of sheep currently occupying the facilities meant for the noblest members of Magical Britain.

Speaking of the greats among the crowd, one of them stood tall and proud, wearing his deep plum robes just like all other members of the Wizengamot. His long silver hair and beard obstructed part of his face, but those who looked closely enough and who'd witnessed the meeting in question would see that Albus Dumbledore looked every bit as grim as he had during the most notorious Death Eater trial more than eleven years earlier.

After letting the droning of the crowd persist for as long as he could feasibly get away with in an effort to collect himself to the best of his abilities, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot slammed his gavel against the podium, drawing the collective attention of the room to him.

"We must pass the opening of this emergency meeting of the Wizengamot. All in favour?" Every wand rose into the air, and Albus seemed to age a number of years as he prepared to open the meeting in question. "Very well; motion passed. Let the emergency Wizengamot meeting of January the fourteenth, nineteen-ninety-three commence."

All of a sudden, the courtroom was eerily quiet, though the tension in the air had far from receded. If anything, it had only grown as Dumbledore called the meeting to order, something most present would have thought impossible just minutes earlier.

"As this is an unscheduled gathering of this body, there is no standard business to take care of. Unless, of course, anyone present wishes to call any urgent matters to the Wizengamot's attention?"

Nobody did.

Some had considered trying to push their own agendas at a meeting that would doubtlessly be so heavily publicized. But distracting from the meeting's true purpose would not only be extremely disrespectful, but it would also very much risk making some very powerful enemies of the people who had called for the meeting in the first place.

Dumbledore nodded. "In that case, we shall swiftly move onto the roll call, and then we shall begin."

The roll call encompassed every family who sat on the Wizengamot. From the few Founding Twelve families remaining — each of whom had twenty votes to their family's name — to mere houses who only had a single vote to utilize.

If one was observing their first-ever Wizengamot meeting, they might think this an extremely corrupt system, especially with such an obvious disparity in political power. They would be completely correct, but any educated citizen would never ask such an ignorant question. Magical Britain was a nation built on corruption. Therefore, it should come as no surprise when the political system that is responsible for the running of said nation rests upon the most corrupt of foundations.

The Wizengamot was made up of a total of five-hundred and nine votes. Of the total, the Conservatives controlled two-hundred-and-thirty-three, whilst the Liberals controlled one-hundred-and-ninety-five. The Neutrals may have controlled the vast minority at only eighty-one votes, but in many ways, they were the most important of the three factions.

On most matters, the Conservatives and Liberals disagreed. The Conservatives may have controlled more votes, largely thanks to their faction controlling three Founding House's seats, but if the Neutrals sided with the Liberals, the Conservatives would lose the vote. So, in most cases, whichever direction the Neutrals leaned was the winning direction. Except for the very rare instances when all members of a given party didn't vote the same as their party mates.

When the roll call had finally been completed, it was the smallest faction that drew the attention of the Chief Warlock. "As the faction responsible for hastily calling this emergency session, I think it wise to allow the Neutrals a chance to express what is on their minds. To the designated speaker of the Neutrals, I concede the chair."

Once more, there was a brief rumbling of conversation, but it was snuffed out instantaneously when Lord Cyrus Greengrass stood to his feet.

The man's face was admirably blank, but those nearest could practically feel the intensity radiating off of him in waves.

Not that everybody present couldn't correctly assume exactly what this was about.

The previous morning, the _Daily Prophet _had published an article written by Rita Skeeter. An article that spoke of Daphne Greengrass's sudden and unexplained disappearance.

Skeeter had predicted a Wizengamot meeting to be called in the coming days, and the rather inventive journalist had, on this occasion, been correct. Nearly everybody in the vast room had read the article. Those who hadn't had all at least heard of its contents, so it was no real surprise that Cyrus Greengrass effortlessly commanded the attention of the room at that moment in time.

"Lords, ladies, and esteemed visitors," the man said smoothly. "It has come to my attention through the mishandling of my daughter's safety by the institution in question that terrible things have been taking place this year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." His voice may have been void of emotion, but every word had a decisiveness to it that was impossible to miss. "I'm sure many of you have read the colourful articles published by the _Daily Prophet _not only yesterday, but in the last number of months. I'm also sure that many of you, like me, thought they were nothing more than gossip.

"Well, my faction and I have called this meeting today in part to inform each and every single one of you that every event the articles have referenced has indeed happened. A supposed Heir of Slytherin is running rampant inside that castle. This criminal has now not only assaulted a cat and a young muggleborn boy, but two sons of an Ancient House, and now my daughter; the heiress of one of the few Founding Houses this country has left.

"My point isn't to bring up blood in an effort to divide us. I bring it up to unite us. Blood and blood rights are one of the most divisive topics this court discusses, but I am here to tell you it is irrelevant to the matter at hand. Both muggleborns and purebloods have felt the wrath of whomever might be responsible for these disappearances. I tell you this in an effort to make one thing plain. These atrocities are a threat to everyone, regardless of blood. I urge you to consider our suggested action knowing that whatever your stance may be on blood, it isn't relevant to the issue at hand."

This time, the muttering was louder than ever. On almost any other occasion, if somebody had suggested to the Wizengamot to put what may very well be the most complex and controversial political issue in the country to the side, they would have been laughed out of the court.

But this wasn't a normal occasion.

It also helped that the speaker was one of the most politically powerful men in the country.

As such, the muttering wasn't so astonished or furious as it was… assentive.

From his spot on the podium, Dumbledore's brow furrowed as the wrinkles on his face momentarily appeared to deepen. It was a bold tactic by Lord Greengrass. An obvious effort to rally and unite the entire Wizengamot. Which meant that something major was coming. Something that would prove to be controversial and incredibly impactful.

"Our primary concerns are this," Lord Greengrass continued. "Students have been disappearing at Hogwarts. This in and of itself is absolute insanity, something I'm sure nobody in this court would disagree with." Judging by the expressions dotted all around the room, his statement rang true. "The staff have also utterly failed in apprehending the perpetrator, despite these incidents dating back almost three months and noticeably escalating in severity ever since." The crowd muttered again.

"Secondly, and even more troublingly, is the fact that we had to hear about it from a newspaper." More muttering. "Our children are at risk of disappearance. Maybe even death, and we hear nothing? Those at Hogwarts seem not only unable to apprehend the culprit, but intent on burying the truth and failing to make us, the parents and governing body of Magical Britain, aware of the developments that affect us directly."

The muttering had swelled to outright, scandalized chatter by now, and Dumbledore felt dread well up in the pit of his stomach.

Cyrus Greengrass wasn't wrong.

He failed to understand the rationale behind his decision of not releasing this information to the public, but he wasn't wrong, and he very much expected that the Wizengamot was about to eat him alive for it.

Eat him alive they did.

As procedure dictated after Cyrus ended his opening statements, the floor was opened to cross-examination. Much of it was directed at the Greengrass Lord, but a fair number were directed at Albus.

Why was Hogwarts trying to pretend everything was perfectly under control? Why was the school even still open? That one made Dumbledore cringe. Were there any indications of who might be behind these atrocities? Was there any validity to the rumours circulating around the country about the Chamber of Secrets? Was the Boy-Who-Lived really a Parselmouth?

Dumbledore had good answers for practically none of these questions, so he deflected them with the skill of a well-practiced politician.

After what must have been over an hour, Dumbledore finally evaded the last question posed to him, and had asserted control over the proceedings once more.

"If that is all?" Nobody indicated otherwise. "Good, good," he said exhaustedly, turning back to where the Neutrals sat together, "well then, Lord Greengrass, you have made your concerns very evident. Is there… any suggested course of action you would like to put forth to the Wizengamot?"

"There is, Chief Warlock." Lord Greengrass's posture was ramrod straight. "After much discussion and deliberation prior to today's meeting, myself and my faction would like to put forth a motion that, if passed, will see the immediate closure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A closure that will remain in effect until all of the victims are found and recovered. During this closure, we would recommend a full sweep of the castle by the Aurors."

Pandemonium broke loose all at once in the courtroom.

Nobody even bothered muttering now.

On the contrary, many of the voices had risen so drastically in volume that an equal number now had to shout in order to be heard. Dumbledore's mind raced. He hadn't honestly thought this proposition would arise. He had expected his place as Headmaster to be brought up, but this? The Neutrals were a lot of things, but drastic was not usually one of them. Many in their faction were also traditionalists, which made the proposal all the more surprising.

"I am not proposing a permanent closure of the school," Cyrus Greengrass clarified. "I think it should reopen as soon as possible, but we cannot allow our children to live and learn in such a dangerous place. Not when some of them have already suffered unknown consequences as a result of the current climate within the castle- and the possible negligence of the castle's staff."

The chaos continued, even as Lord Greengrass spoke. It took a round of obnoxiously loud fireworks fired from the end of Dumbledore's wand to bring the crowd to silence.

"Do we have any who wish to make counter-arguments before the motion is posed?"

He was hoping one of the Liberals would object on his behalf, but they all seemed to be sitting with hard, determined expressions and Albus instinctively knew that he couldn't rouse them to his side, despite being their leader. If he tried, he would likely accomplish nothing but tarnishing his own reputation in the process.

But Hogwarts couldn't close.

If Hogwarts closed, the culprit may never be found, which would be catastrophic.

It was, in some way or another, an agent of Voldemort opening the Chamber of Secrets. The Headmaster had no doubt of this. He thought it likely a similar situation to last year, even. Voldemort being in possible control of a student or, less likely, a member of staff.

It was for this reason the castle couldn't close.

If this were the case, at least Voldemort's will was confined to the castle. If the school closed and she and her vessel were allowed to roam free, Albus feared what might happen. He had his suspicions about her survival. No matter how she had done it, he was sure there were ways in which she could return. Doing so at Hogwarts would be extremely difficult. Doing so under his nose at Hogwarts would be even more so. But left to roam free in the world… Voldemort's ability to return suddenly became a lot less complex.

Moreover, it meant that they may never catch who was responsible. Not only would this mean no justice for the victims, but it would mean Voldemort's servant kept their anonymity. In the hands of the Dark Lady, that was a weapon far more dangerous than any branch of magic.

All of this was why, for the first and only time in his life, Dumbledore felt a great swell of gratitude blossom within him when Lucius Malfoy stood to address the room at large.

"I don't think anyone in this room disagrees with your noble premise, Lord Greengrass." Everyone in the chamber could feel the "but" coming. "However, I think it is rather shortsighted to immediately close down Hogwarts. What of our children? What are they without a proper education? How can they be expected to smoothly integrate into wizarding society when they are of age? Surely, with stricter precautions in place and some more… diligence on the part of the Headmaster and professors of the institution in question, Hogwarts can stay open, at least for the time being."

Many in the Conservative Faction were nodding along with Malfoy. Albus thought several Neutrals might have been convinced if not for the obvious ire emanating from one of their leaders.

Obviously, none of them wanted to cross that.

"You would risk your own child, Malfoy?" Cyrus countered pointedly. "You would risk the lives of every single one of our children? You would rest our children's lives on the back of a plan with no promise of success? We don't know how they are vanishing in the first place. Without that information, what measures could possibly be put in place to ensure that all of the children are protected?"

Lucius had no counter, but Tiberius Nott did. "Is it even within the legal rights of the Wizengamot to close Hogwarts? Is that not an authority specifically designated to the Board of Governors."

All the eyes in the room looked towards Dumbledore. He had no desire to answer this question, but the choice was no longer in his hands.

"The Wizengamot does have the authority to force a closure of the castle. It is ironically one of the few powers the body holds over the school. This law was set in place before the Hogwarts Board of Governors ever existed after several… questionable appointments in regards to the school's leadership. The power has thus far never been exercised, but it is available for use at the Wizengamot's discretion if need be."

"I still respectfully think the closure of Hogwarts would be a massive, shortsighted mistake." Malfoy said calmly. "Surely, there is another way?" He paused. "What of Aurors? Could a full lockdown not be in effect any time the children are not in classes? Could Aurors not patrol the halls? Could they not actively search for the Chamber of Secrets?"

Many Neutrals also seemed to agree with this course of action, even if it seemed as though Lord Greengrass, Regent Weitts and several others judged it as inadequate.

If only it was that easy.

"I am afraid not, Lord Malfoy," Dumbledore said heavily. "Via the Hogwarts Charter, no occupying force may be granted permission to enter the castle. This was a provision put in place by the founders themselves. One that has stood for over a thousand years."

Amelia Bones raised her wand, and Dumbledore called for her to take the floor.

She had recently been appointed as Head of the DMLE after the previous head, Rufus Scrimgeour, had retired on the solstice. Primarily due to his badly injured leg posing potential problems out in the field.

"But Headmaster," the woman asked with narrowed eyes, "last year, an occupying force was permitted access to Hogwarts. My department sent two Aurors plus a detective to investigate the death of the then heir to the Ancient House of Higgs."

Rumblings spread across the room once more, but they were quickly muted when Dumbledore shook his head.

"I think you will find, Lady Bones, that three just so happens to be the largest party possible. It was the maximum number permitted by the founders. Any more than three is considered by the charter as an occupying force. You may also remember when Aurors Potter, Shacklebolt and Dawlish were dispatched to the castle last May? Again, the number was not coincidental."

Questions were thrown around the courtroom like cheap trinkets for the next number of minutes, but the same one cropped up quite frequently.

Why was this charter not publicly available?

"It is not publicly available," Dumbledore said calmly once the noise level permitted him to speak at all, "for much the same reason that your family charters are not publicly available. Even without those provisions in place, the charter pre-dates the Wizengamot by decades."

"But this is lunacy!" Lord Warrington said heatedly. "What if there was a massacre at Hogwarts? Nothing could be done about it? We would have to trust the professors to see to it?"

The sentiment was echoed all throughout the hall and it took Dumbledore far longer to regain order this time.

"The point of this meeting is not to bicker about charters written more than a thousand years ago. The goal of this session is to resolve the ongoing issues that were brought up at the session's beginning. Speaking of, Lord Greengrass, I see you wish to make a counterpoint?"

The revelation of Hogwarts being completely cut off from outside intervention had not gone over well and Albus very much suspected that would be coming up again at one of the next meetings.

"Yes, Chief Warlock. With respect to our esteemed Aurors, I am personally not comfortable allowing the school to stay open knowing that only three of them could be on guard. The castle is vast, and no matter how talented they might be, three wizards could never cover all of it. And I reiterate, without knowing the nature of the threat, we can't be sure a lockdown would be at all effective. With all of this in mind, I would like to officially put forth the motion for the temporary closure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to vote."

A general murmur of assent ran through the courtroom. Dumbledore deflated. This was it. He'd done everything he could, but what he could do was vastly limited by his political position, one that demanded complete and total neutrality when mediating. Now, the motion would be put forth and the vote would pass.

"Do we have… any final objections?" he asked dejectedly.

There was the clearing of a throat from the sidelines, catching all in the massive chamber off guard. They all looked in the direction of the noise and, to their immense surprise, it was the court scribe who had cleared their throat.

"Yes, Mister…"

"P-P-Perkins, Chief Warlock Dumbledore, sir. Perkins."

"Mister Perkins," Dumbledore said tiredly, noticing how obviously unhappy the crowd was that a mere court scribe had been given permission to interrupt the meeting. "Did… you have an objection, Mister Perkins?"

Dumbledore knew he couldn't legally object. He didn't have a Wizengamot seat, so it would hardly matter if he did. Nevertheless, he was willing to do just about anything to stall at the present moment in time.

"N-not an objection, Chief Warlock. I… I have a message that was passed onto the court earlier today in… in case something like this came up?"

The courtroom fell silent all at once. Whatever they had all expected, this wasn't it. "A… message?" Dumbledore asked skeptically.

"Yes, sir," the court scribe said with noticeable anxiety. When the room's undivided attention rested upon the young, red-haired man in his mid-twenties, he closed his eyes and took a deep, readying breath. "A message from the Heir of Slytherin."

The court erupted into disarray as soon as the words had left the young wizard's mouth.

For his part, Dumbledore's jaw went slack for all of three seconds before he managed to reel in his shock once more.

A message from the Heir of Slytherin? Emily had managed to get a message into the Wizengamot?

This wasn't good.

This meant that she had been in contact with political allies. Important ones, at that. There was no way such a thing could have been accomplished otherwise. The clearance process alone would never have been successful. Worse still, they wouldn't be able to question Perkins as to who had passed along the message and how they had done it. Anonymity in such matters was a fundamental right of any who put forth such messages and concerns.

Dumbledore could tell all in the room, once settled, were listening with wrapped attention. It seemed he had little choice but to let the Heir of Slytherin deliver their message.

"Very well, Mister Perkins. What message does the Heir of Slytherin have for us?"

In a slightly shaky voice, Mister Perkins spoke aloud. Spoke the most important words he'd ever spoken in his life.

"Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, I feel no need to introduce myself, given the current circumstances. I do not merely write you with greetings, but a warning. The actions you could take against myself and my campaign are very limited. In fact, I see only one as a true threat, which is why I warn each and every single one of you. It is why I urge you all to heed my words, for I am many things, but a bluffer is not one of them.

"Daphne Greengrass is very much alive." Dumbledore could practically feel a small amount of the tension drain from the room, and Cyrus Greengrass looked as if the sky had been lifted off his shoulders.

Until the message continued.

"As are Fred and George Weasley, as well as Colin Creevey. They are all alive. Unconscious, helpless, and I am able to do with them as I please, but alive nevertheless. Alas, that can change very quickly.

"Heed my words and hear my warning, Lords, Ladies and spectators. If Hogwarts school is ordered closed, I shall ensure that none of these children are ever seen or heard from again. This is my first address to the Wizengamot as the Heir of Slytherin. Take it as you will."

And just like that, all hell broke loose.

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**Author's Endnote:**

**I am a bit nervous to see how the Wizengamot scene goes over, seeing as politics are always controversial. I rather enjoyed writing it though, and I think it ends the chapter on a suitably dramatic note.**

**Next chapter will feature the fallout from the last few days, as well as some other, interesting tidbits. There will be a time skip between the next chapter and the one after it, but it won't be too long. The pace is about to drastically speed up though, since almost all of the pieces are in place by now.**

**Please read and review. **

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 5th, 2020. Or you can read it right now by joining my Discord server via the link on my profile, or by supporting me on P*T*E*N**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope, discodancepant, Isaaa and Sesc for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	44. SS Ch 26 Calculated Strikes Part I

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 26: Carefully Calculated Strikes Part I**

* * *

_**January 14, 1993**_

_**The Office of Amelia Bones**_

_**1:23 PM**_

Damn Slytherins to hell and back.

That was what Amelia Bones — newly minted Head of the DMLE — thought as she strode into her office, leading a procession of rather important people behind her.

Less than three weeks ago, Rufus Scrimgeour had officially resigned from his position as head of the department, and Amelia wondered if he'd seen something like this coming.

The given justification for the man's retirement was that his leg was too badly injured, and he could no longer be an asset in the field. Whilst Amelia certainly agreed his capabilities were lessened, she doubted very much that a wizard of Scrimgeour's caliber would suddenly be useless due to a simple decrease in mobility. She hadn't said that, of course. After his prominent role in the last war, serving out on the front lines as an Auror, nobody in the office begrudged him of an early and hopefully peaceful retirement.

But Amelia had doubted Scrimgeour's reasoning then, and she certainly doubted it now.

The man was a deductive genius. It was a wonder to most who knew him that he had never been a detective and had instead spent most of his years as an Auror. Amelia thought he could have given Pettigrew a run for his money, and the DMLE's top detective hadn't failed in as long as she could remember.

Scrimgeour had a sixth sense for danger. He always seemed to know when a threat was on the horizon, and he always seemed to have an indication of not just who was behind it, but their motives and the general level of threat they posed.

She wondered if this was just another case of Rufus being right. Not that he could have foreseen the exact set of circumstances, but perhaps he'd deduced something major was going to spiral out of this business at Hogwarts. If he had, Amelia certainly wouldn't have blamed him for deciding he wanted no part of it and retiring right there. Merlin knew that was what she wanted to do right about now.

The Wizengamot meeting had descended into complete and total chaos following the ominous message from the Heir of Slytherin. The court had been shocked into silence for all of five seconds before muttering, jeering, screams and shouts dominated the courtroom. It had practically taken an age to get the court back under control and, even then, the chaos had been far from over.

Once order had been restored, the meeting had continued.

Closing Hogwarts was obviously no longer an option. The court couldn't justify sentencing four children to death. A few brave members had argued that they needed to look at the bigger picture. Others had pointed out that this self proclaimed Heir of Slytherin hadn't provided them with any proof to validate their claims.

None of it had mattered.

The Neutrals were standing firm. And, for once, both the Liberals and Conservatives also seemed to be in agreement.

The Liberals had looked sickened by the very idea of a decision so morally fraught , and the Conservatives were far too traditional to ever agree to something as radical as the closure of the best school in the country. Let alone sentencing a child of one of the oldest and most influential families in the nation to death. That wasn't even to speak of the ones who had business dealings with the Greengrasses and didn't want to draw their ire. Prices would suddenly rise very high for anyone who even dared suggest their heiress be sentenced to death.

It hadn't taken long for the few outliers to be silenced and for a decision to be reached on the matter of closing Hogwarts. The castle would be staying open as long as they could feasibly allow. Others pointed out that if the mysterious Heir of Slytherin was at Hogwarts, at least it kept them out of the larger world outside. Another decision that had been easily agreed upon was that something had to be done.

Deciding exactly what that something was had been far more difficult.

The proclamation that a force of Aurors wouldn't be allowed entrance to the castle had troubled much of the court. Even in her position of power, Amelia hadn't been aware of that particular provision. It greatly limited their options, as well as brought up a number of troubling implications that would have to wait until they figured out exactly what they would do about this menace at Hogwarts.

Some creative solutions had been offered.

Send a number of different groups of three, therefore negating the provision about an occupying force, so long as the forces in question weren't directly related or working together. Dumbledore had pointed out exactly why this would fail. The wards were old and powerful. They would judge not just the numbers, but the intent as well.

Another, though less creative solution that had been met with resounding agreement was to simply repeal that particular clause of the Hogwarts Charter.

While this was technically a possibility under the court's authority, it was not a quick one. It would likely take a number of months to be able to do so, as the logistics were so murky that Amelia could barely remember them. Not to mention that there was no precedent whatsoever for this. Albus had also been rather reluctant to do this. As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he did have a certain amount of say in these things. Amelia didn't doubt he would allow the provision to be repealed if enough support rallied behind the idea, but she also didn't doubt he would have his own long list of conditions before signing off on it.

Seeing as the entire Liberal Faction would vote with Dumbledore, that was troubling.

Not that they couldn't win the vote without the Liberals, but that was assuming they got nearly a unanimous vote from the Conservatives and a favourable vote from the Neutrals. Amelia wasn't even so sure the former party would agree with the idea. The latter would almost definitely support it, but their numbers weren't large enough to truly sway the court — unless they proved to be the deciding factor in a stalemate.

The simplest solution had eventually won out; the one Lucius Malfoy had suggested rather early on in the proceedings.

They would send three members of the DMLE to Hogwarts.

It was the largest number they could get away with. It might have been far from ideal, but it was also much better than the alternative of doing nothing at all.

They would also be locking down the castle. No student would be allowed out of their common room after curfew or before the opening of breakfast. Hopefully, that would limit the Heir's exploits. If it didn't, it would at least mean they had a much higher likelihood of being caught and apprehended.

That vote had been unanimous, something that was extremely rare in the Wizengamot, especially since the fall of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

None of that was directly responsible for Amelia's internal cursing about Scrimgeour and, by extension, Slytherins.

Indirectly, it was very much involved.

It was in response to the Wizengamot's decision that she was now leading these people into her office to discuss the critical decision of exactly who would be sent to Hogwarts.

Senior Aurors Potter, Shacklebolt and Dawlish followed her into the room. They were quickly joined by Chief Auror Alastor Moody, the DMLE's top detective Peter Pettigrew, and the Minister for Magic, Bartemius Crouch Sr.

"Shall we begin?" Crouch asked in a rather clipped tone once everyone had sat down in their seats. Everybody nodded. "This decision cannot be made haphazardly," Crouch stressed. "It is an issue that must be resolved, but there is also no sense in crippling our Auror force over an investigation that might well turn out to be fruitless."

Moody grunted. "Are you suggesting we're not up to the task, Crouch?" Moody had to be one of the only people alive who could casually call the Minister for Magic by his last name in public and get away with it.

"I am saying that the entire operation is an uphill battle from the start. We are handicapped before we even begin. Typical investigations of this nature would see at least five detectives deployed, as well as three-or-so Aurors. We are bound not only by numbers, but designations.

"If we send three detectives, we will likely have a better probability of solving the mystery. The problem would arise when and if the mystery is solved and if the answer turned out to be something particularly dangerous. Likewise, if we send three Aurors, resolving the issue becomes much more feasible, but finding out what said issue is suddenly becomes a problem." He gazed around at those gathered around him. "Do you all follow?"

They all nodded. "So we send a combination," Pettigrew rationalized. "A detective and two Aurors, or two detectives and an Auror."

Crouch looked pensive. "That is certainly one outlook. I had a rather different take, myself."

"And," came a soft voice from the door, "would it be possible for me to hear this take of yours, Minister? Perhaps the rest of this conversation as well, as it does pertain rather directly to the school that I do my best to run."

Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, still wearing his plum-coloured Wizengamot robes.

Amelia frowned. "This is a highly important meeting of the DMLE, Dumbledore. Some of the information that comes up in this meeting may be classified after the fact. I'm not sure it's best-"

"Let him in," Moody growled, his normal eye focusing on the Hogwarts Headmaster while his magical eye swiveled and found Amelia Bones. "Dumbledore doesn't count as part of an occupying force. He's already at Hogwarts, see? No association to the Ministry at all. He'll be our best weapon against all this." His magical eye narrowed while still fixated on Madam Bones. "But he won't be able to do that if you keep him out of the meeting."

"I agree with Mad-Eye," James Potter spoke up. "If we're going into Hogwarts, it's only right we let Dumbledore in on it. He might be our best chance at figuring all of this out."

Amelia pursed her lips and glanced towards Crouch. The man was impassive, but he didn't react in the negative, so she sighed. "Oh, very well. Come in then, Dumbledore."

The man smiled genially as he stepped inside and removed his wand from the pocket of his robes. With a light flick, he conjured an armchair from thin air and took a seat between Potter and Pettigrew, directly across from Alastor.

"We were just talkin' about who should go to Hogwarts," Moody summarized succinctly.

Dumbledore nodded pensively. "Certainly not your best detective."

All in the room looked at Dumbledore as if he'd just proposed the abolishing of the Statute of Secrecy. "And why on earth not?" Amelia asked, stunned.

Dumbledore suddenly looked very tired. "My dear Madam Bones, if the Chamber of Secrets was so easy to find, it would have been found many years ago. Headmasters and Headmistresses have spent centuries looking. Why, I have probably spent more time than any, and in fifty years I have never succeeded."

"What is your point, Dumbledore?" asked Crouch with obvious impatience.

"Merely that the Chamber of Secrets is likely inaccessible to all those who do not speak Salazar's sacred tongue. It also stands to reason, if this is the case, that other hidden facets of the castle may well fall under the same designation."

"So you think flushing out the heir will be nearly impossible," Peter summarized. "You think that the heir has secret passages at their disposal that we can't access and that if the top detectives converged on Hogwarts, they would start using them exclusively.

"Precisely."

All present looked between Minister Crouch and Madam Bones. "What are you proposing then?" asked the latter in a rather calculated voice.

"I am proposing that on the investigative side, those most well-suited for the job may be best used outside of the castle, piecing together anything they can on the Heir of Slytherin."

"So you are proposing three Aurors be sent?"

"That is exactly what I am proposing, Madam Bones. If the detectives can glean any information on the outside, the Aurors can investigate on the inside. It is the best way to effectively utilize as much manpower as possible. Just because more than three people of service may not be deployed to Hogwarts, does not mean that they cannot be working on the dilemma from the outside. I will, of course, also offer aid from inside any way possible."

There was a long silence at the table before Moody nodded. "Classic asset management," he said approvingly. "Making the best with whatcha got. I like it."

What went unsaid was that Moody knew Dumbledore had a vast array of experience at his disposal in doing just that. It had practically been the Order of the Phoenix's mantra during the last War.

"I have my concerns," Amelia voiced, "but I also don't have any better idea, and I admit your points are also valid. It is not a good option; not even remotely."

"But it is our best option," Shacklebolt finished in his deep, baritone-like voice.

All of them knew what the next question was. Who would they send into Hogwarts?

"I'm going."

Nobody was surprised when James Potter spoke up. He was a Gryffindor through and through. No task was too insurmountable for him to personally and persistently attack with fervor. With both of his sons at Hogwarts, the situation was most definitely one that he felt he should handle.

It wasn't a secret that his heir had already been at least indirectly implicated as a potential suspect. The _Daily Prophet_ saw to the fact that information became very public. Yet it also wasn't a secret that he was rather close with the Greengrass Heiress. They'd been seen together at several social gatherings, and were clearly more than simple acquaintances. Her attack, in the eyes of all but the extremists, ruled him out as a potential candidate.

Well, the extremists and Albus Dumbledore, but he didn't truly suspect Harry. He suspected the Potter Heir as a device, not as a culprit.

Unfortunately for James Potter, one such extremist did sit at the table.

"Your son's a suspect, Potter," growled Moody. "We can't let you investigate a case involving your family."

James straightened his posture as a bit of redness crept into his cheeks. "What are you implying, Moody?"

"I'm not implyin' nothing. I'm just going off the evidence, like I always do. I'm not saying your son is the Heir of Slytherin. Don't know one way or the other, and it would be stupid of me to pretend I did. But that doesn't change the fact he's a suspect." Moody fixed James with a hard stare before the man could protest. "And if Harry Potter isn't a suspect, then Charlus Potter damn sure is. I'm sorry, James, but anybody who can speak to snakes while Slytherin's spawn runs about making hell is a suspect. It's not an argument, and there's no way around it."

James opened his mouth but quickly closed it.

He really had no counter to that, and he could do little more than sit back in his seat and let the meeting continue.

* * *

_**That night, in the Great Hall…**_

It had been a trying number of days for the forsaken Potter.

Ever since Daphne's disappearance, he'd felt less than stable. Sure, the effects of his mental trials could be partially negated by the suppression of emotion, but he'd learned the hard way in the Speaker's Den the consequences of suppressing too much of it at his level. Emily had also explained it and, in hindsight, his unstable Occlumency had never had a chance.

He'd used it rather conservatively since then, just enough to get by, but it had been a very rough number of days.

Righteous flames of fury burned hot within him, licking hungrily at his innards and seeming to make a furious attempt to devour any self-restraint he had left.

By now, he had decided that if he met this Heir of Slytherin, he was going to make the bastard pay.

What exactly he would do... Harry hadn't yet decided, but whatever it turned out to be would wind up being less than pleasant.

He'd recently hit a roadblock when considering launching his own investigations into the matter, though.

Well, a roadblock that wasn't the school-wide lockdown, that was. That of course was a massive pain, but there was hardly anything he could do about that.

News of the rather polarizing Wizengamot meeting had spread across the country faster than a speeding bludger. By now, every man, woman, and child in Magical Britain seemed acutely aware of all that had taken place at the meeting.

The Heir of Slytherin had intervened, forcing the court to make a less than ideal decision that would just have to do.

The three assigned Aurors had arrived just hours after the meeting, and the lockdown of Hogwarts was in place by the time they had arrived. Harry hated it already. Being confined wasn't something he did well with. He already knew he would be breaking curfew when he had a chance, but therein laid the problem.

Getting caught out after curfew would be disastrous as is, but being caught for anything that could even remotely be connected to the Chamber of Secrets would be catastrophic.

Much of the school's population seemed to have retracted their suspicions towards Harry after his best friend had disappeared. Some particularly bold Gryffindors had firmly maintained their previous opinion, but the percentage of students who thought him the Heir was now rather slim. It actually appeared as though now, many more students suspected Charlus to be the Heir. How it had taken them this long to accuse his brother, Harry wasn't sure.

He knew Charlus wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. The mere idea that he could be was positively laughable. He still should have been more highly suspected than Harry though. The Boy-Who-Lived had quite literally revealed himself as a Parselmouth, for Merlin's sake — and that was saying nothing of the dangerous magic he had haphazardly thrown around during his duel with Harry. Magic that Harry knew much of the Hogwarts population naively viewed as being dark.

Speaking of which, he really needed to start learning some of the more powerful magic at his disposal. He'd meant to look into that, but Daphne's disappearance had effectively derailed all the plans he'd had.

Though most of the student body seemed to have come to their senses, one rather important figure had not.

That figure was Albus Dumbledore.

Well — and Gilderoy Lockhart, but as worrying as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor could be at times, Harry was far more troubled by the constant observations of the Hogwarts Headmaster.

Dumbledore had watched him like a hawk ever since Daphne had gone missing. It was as though he somehow suspected Harry even more now that Daphne had vanished. As if he'd attacked her for the sole purpose of drawing the suspicion off of himself. Harry wasn't going to claim he was a shining paragon of morality, and his moral code may have been a bit skewed, at times, but come on. He wasn't that bad a person.

The Sorting Hat had summarized it well. He would be loyal to those close to him, however few they turned out to be.

But for whatever reason, Dumbledore seemed to have an inherent distrust of him that Harry couldn't seem to shake. He could sort of see where the man was coming from before the disappearance of his closest friend. Granted, no Slytherin would directly implicate themselves in the way it appeared to some as if Harry had done, but he could see where the old man was coming from. At least at a quick glance, it had not looked good for him.

Yes, Dumbledore was a problem.

He wasn't confident in looking into the Chamber of Secrets so long as Dumbledore was around. The man wasn't just persistent, he was observant. Not to say that he saw more than what he wanted to see, but Harry could very easily picture a scenario where the old man discovered Harry's own investigations, something that could very easily be turned against him.

He couldn't let that happen.

Being expelled from Hogwarts would mean that he was one step closer to becoming an expendable member of the Potter family in the eyes of the law. One step closer to what Harry believed to be Peter Pettigrew's dastardly plan coming to fruition. Thank Merlin he hadn't been placed at Hogwarts. Harry was actually surprised he hadn't been, seeing as he was the top detective of the DMLE. Not that he was complaining; the less contact he had with Pettigrew, the better. Harry didn't have the power to lash out at the man, so his current strategy was to not engage at all costs.

He barely realized that dinner had concluded, so lost he had been in his deep, internal contemplations. He stood numbly, walking alongside his friends down towards Slytherin's home in the dungeons.

He felt a light touch on his arm before he could step through the entrance and into the Slytherin common room. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Tracey was eyeing him with a rather nervous-looking expression. "What's up, Tracey?"

She frowned, likely because his voice sounded just as hollow and as monotone as it had since he had emerged from the Speaker's Den Monday morning — where he had locked himself in the room for the weekend following the panic induced collapse of his Occlumency.

"Can we talk?"

Harry nearly sighed aloud. "This isn't going to be a fun conversation, is it?"

"No, but it's a conversation we need to have."

Harry's shoulders sagged. He'd suspected this was coming, but that didn't mean he was any more enthusiastic about the fact it had finally arrived. Still, he didn't argue.

He knew it would be useless to argue.

They found themselves locked up in an abandoned classroom minutes later. Its door had just been bombarded by every privacy measure Harry knew. Which was admittedly far fewer than he would have liked.

He set his jaw as he turned towards Tracey, looking more as if he were about to dive headfirst into a death-defying stunt as opposed to entering a conversation with one of his best friends. "So, what's up?"

"You," she answered simply. "You haven't been right ever since… you know." Her voice sounded rather small at the end, and Harry felt a small pang of guilt rear up within him.

He'd been so worried about his own mental struggles over the past four days that he had never even considered how his friends might be coping with the situation, let alone actually stop to help them. Not that he had been in any state to be helpful emotionally.

Hell, not that he had ever been in any state to be of emotional assistance, but that was beside the point.

"Merlin, Tracey," he muttered. "I have been a bit... closed off recently. How are you-"

"Nuh uh," Tracey interjected. "No switching topics on me. You might be cunning, but I know you. I know you're going to want to avoid this conversation, but that wouldn't help anybody."

Harry winced. Yes, he could see how it had looked like he had been doing just that, even though it hadn't been his true intention.

Well — it hadn't been his conscious intention, anyway. He imagined his subconscious would have been quite thrilled to have put this chat on the back burner.

"You know I'm no good at this whole emotions thing, right?"

Tracey looked rather saddened by that comment. "I do, which is exactly why we're talking. I don't expect it to be easy. I'm just trying to help. I know you might not think of it this way, but it's like I told you back at Daphne's place in the summer; talking about it really does make it easier. Most of the time, at least."

Harry stared at her for what had to have been no less than ten seconds. When it became clear the small strawberry blonde wasn't about to relent, he deflated.

"I… don't actually know," he answered. "I feel like I want to kill the Heir of Slytherin; actually kill them, but I also feel… depressed? Hopeless?" He shivered. "Helpless."

Tracey studied him carefully. "Can I ask you a personal question, Harry?" She held up her hand before he could answer. "I don't need a detailed answer. A simple one will do."

"I… might not answer it, but you can ask."

"Out of depression, hopelessness, and helplessness, which one makes you feel the worst? Don't think about it, just answer."

He didn't need to think at all. "Helplessness," he answered without a second's hesitation.

"When… when you lived with your relatives, did you ever feel helpless? Do you think that's where your hatred for it comes from?" Slowly, he nodded. "Do you think it's a fear, or do you just not like it?"

Harry knew the answer at once, but really didn't want to give it.

He didn't have to.

His silence spoke volumes, and Tracey nodded in a manner that indicated that had been her guess all along.

"It's not going to completely go away," she admitted. Harry had known that already, though it still struck deeply to hear aloud. "But it can be helped."

"How?"

"I find being productive works. Thing is, you're too much of an introvert sometimes. When… you know — it happened, you completely turned in on yourself and just disappeared into your own head. You were so worried about dealing with everything that you pretty much stopped being productive. At least while doing things, your mind isn't always on the problem, and you feel like you're actually making progress at something, which is kind of like the opposite of helplessness, in a way."

That… actually made a considerable amount of sense, and it lined up quite well with his past experiences.

Any time he could remember feeling particularly strong amounts of that exact emotion, he had essentially thrown himself head-long into his projects and had slowly begun to feel better.

It wasn't a fix. Like Tracey had said, something as major as this wasn't simply going to go away, but anything that could make it better would be appreciated.

"As for wanting to kill the heir," Tracey continued. "I… don't really know what to say to that. This is probably where I should tell you it's an awful idea and lecture you about how awful it is, but…"

"You wouldn't blame me if I did."

Reluctantly, Tracey nodded. "No," she said softly, a certain fierceness in her voice. "No, I wouldn't."

"It could be Malfoy." The thought had been floating at the forefront of his mind for some time now, even though he had his doubts.

"You don't actually believe that, do you?"

He shrugged. "Daphne set him up at the New Year's Eve gala. If he figured it out, it would make sense."

"But that's using the same logic everyone used against you when the twins went missing," Tracey pointed out, and Harry knew at once that she was right. "I don't know about you, but I'm noticing a pattern here. This Heir of Slytherin seems to do things the same way over and over again. Attacking targets that point to other people as the attacker."

Many people might not have viewed Tracey as a Slytherin. She seemed far too personable, bubbly, outgoing and even naive at times.

Harry could see exactly why she was a Slytherin.

Coming from a rather shitty background himself, he had no doubt that a certain degree of cunning had formed during her primitive years, even if it wasn't as obvious as his, or others' in the house. Ambition, too, most likely; though he hadn't inquired about that.

Regardless, Tracey was observant.

She could read him better than any of his friends, save maybe Daphne. She had realized something was up with the Dursleys very early on, if his assumptions were correct, and she'd read him rather remarkably this year.

Maybe she didn't read situations best all the time, but she had an innate ability to read people that lent itself rather splendidly to Slytherin House. She just hadn't liberally put that talent to use, as of yet.

"I want to find out who it is." His voice was soft and it shook slightly, something he wasn't particularly proud of.

Tracey looked him dead in the eye. "Harry, I could sit here and tell you for hours how terrible of an idea that is. I really could. It's a very non-Slytherin thing to do, but I'm not going to tell you anything. I know you. You're an offensive player, and you're restless. You can't sit back and watch things happen when you're this tied up in them. It's something for you to work on, but not something you can just fix overnight.

"I know that you're not going to rest until you've at least tried. Honestly, you're going to eventually go after the heir- whether you plan to or not. So I won't tell you not to. I will just ask that you be extremely careful while doing so."

"I can't," he said bitterly. "Dumbledore is jumping at shadows, nowadays. If he sees me do anything even remotely suspicious, he'll ship me out of here faster than I can say frame job."

"Well then, get rid of him."

Harry's eyes widened. "You can't be suggesting—"

"I don't mean kill him!" Tracey exclaimed, scandalized. "I mean get him out of the castle."

Harry snorted. "Do you have any idea how impossible that is?"

"I don't think it's actually as hard as you think. The Wizengamot even talked about it. People's faith is shaky in everything about Hogwarts right now, Dumbledore included. All you would need is a majority vote from the Hogwarts Board of Governors."

"Isn't Lucius Malfoy on the board?"

"He's the head of it, yeah."

That was a start.

Lord Malfoy seemed all too willing to do some favours for Harry in an attempt to earn his eventual allegiance, so long as those favours didn't disadvantage him in any way.

Lucius also despised Dumbledore. That fact was well-known, but it complicated matters.

On the one hand, it meant that he would jump at the opportunity to get the codger thrown out. On the other, it meant that he'd probably already looked into the prospects of doing so and hadn't liked his odds.

Which meant a new variable would need to enter the equation.

Something that, in one way or another, would be able to begin building a strong case against Albus Dumbledore.

Harry didn't know what the answer was to that, but it was a start.

A crazy start, but a start.

He had no delusions that he might actually succeed in the endeavour, but improving as a wizard and taking the first, seemingly impossible step to removing the threat of the Heir of Slytherin would hopefully occupy his mind long enough to avoid the rather crippling mental state he'd been in the last few days.

Anything to escape the oppressive helplessness on all sides. He was more than willing to attempt something impossible if it would keep his damn mind at work.

* * *

_**January 15, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Grace wasted no time beginning their practice as soon as Harry walked through the door.

"We're duelling," she said decisively, something that took Harry a bit aback. Most often, their duels were saved for the end of a session. Probably because Harry usually ended up battered and exhausted after just about all of them.

Surprised he might have been, but opposed he was not.

He complied easily, slipping his wand into his hand and focusing hard.

It only took him twenty-or-so seconds to realize that Grace was humouring him.

She had offered up nothing offensive at all, and simply sat back and defended all of his attacks without a great deal of trouble. This only further fuelled his frustration, and his casting rate increased as he poured more and more power into each and every spell.

It was the longest the two of them had ever duelled.

That wasn't so much a mark of Harry's improvements — though he had improved greatly — as much as it was Grace bafflingly deciding to duel in a purely defensive style.

Eventually, Harry became fatigued. His wand-arm shook as his spell casting slowed and his movements stalled. This was when Grace finally decided to go on the offensive, at which point she disarmed him without much effort.

Harry slumped against the wall, exhausted. Grace considered tossing him back his wand, but she had no illusions he would be successful at catching it, at least, not in his current state. She made her way over and handed it to him, handle first.

Bemusedly, he accepted it. "What was that about?" he panted. "You could have beaten me so much faster."

Harry felt odd. It wasn't just that he was tired. He felt… lighter, somehow.

"My goal wasn't to beat you," Grace said simply. When Harry looked confused, her lips twitched. "With respect, Harry, the winner of the duel was always going to be me. You are extremely talented for your age. I would love to see you duel a talented fourth year, or even a decent-enough fifth year. But you were never going to beat me. I doubt anybody in this castle who isn't one of the more talented professors would beat me if I am being completely honest with you."

"But it still wasn't your goal?"

"No, it wasn't. My goal was to let you vent. You needed it; it was obvious. I could see the tension in you all week. It needed a release. I have no problem being the target of it when need be. It's not a good way of solving your problems, but sometimes, it can help, if other measures have also been taken."

Harry sagged where he now sat. "You're going to talk to me about this, too?"

"No, not really. I can already see somebody has done that, and done a pretty good job of it too. You have looked much better in the last day or so. I will never force you to talk." She paused. "Well, I would force you to talk to me if I thought it was absolutely necessary, but it isn't something I would do unless it was really needed. I'm always happy to talk if you'd like, but I know I'm probably not the best person for that job."

Why she would want that job at all still baffled Harry, but he shoved that mystery aside, for now.

"What I'm better qualified to speak about is using Occlumency to suppress emotions."

He winced. "Charlotte told you, then?"

"She didn't have to. It didn't take a deductive genius to figure it out." She pierced him with a hard, yet somewhat sad stare. "I know emotions aren't your forte. Frankly, they're not mine either, but relying entirely on suppression is not a good thing. Even if you're meaning to do it short-term, it isn't healthy."

"Because of how unstable my shields are right now while they become automatic?"

Grace's eyebrow rose. "Your mysterious teacher strikes again, I see." Harry didn't meet her eyes, but she didn't comment on it any further. "Yes, that is an issue at your current level, but it's not actually what I was referring to. Suppressing emotion doesn't really get rid of it. It just sort of… stores it away.

"The most effective method is to initially suppress an emotion and then very slowly, very gradually let it leak through. You will feel very little of it, and you'll avoid the build-up. Unless you want to permanently suppress an emotion — which you don't — you will eventually need to deal with it. Letting them accumulate is a very bad idea. When you let go of it… well, picture the emotion you suppressed, but amplified several times depending on how long you bottled it up."

Harry winced; that did not sound fun.

Reading up on the idea of letting emotions slowly seep through immediately moved to the top of his to-do list — and as soon as he returned from this session with Grace, he would be making a beeline for the Speaker's Den. He likely wouldn't retreat until classes necessitated it, or until he gained at least some degree of proficiency over this new ability.

"I'll… keep it in mind."

That didn't seem good enough for Grace.

"Promise me that you won't fully suppress powerful, negative emotions for long periods of time. And if you absolutely must, then promise me you will have somebody you trust there to help. Preferably somebody with at least a passable understanding of the Mind Arts. If you trust anybody in my family, we would all easily qualify."

Harry considered this and found that, for whatever reason, he couldn't say no to Grace.

"I promise that I'll at least do the second one, but will try for the first."

Grace nodded curtly. "Alright then. Shall we continue?"

* * *

_**January 16, 1993**_

_**Gilderoy Lockhart's Office**_

_**8:00 PM**_

Charlus had been having a piss-poor week to punctuate what could accurately and succinctly be summarized as a piss-poor year.

The school had spent most of the week completely locked down, and that fact was slowly driving Charlus completely insane.

He was not a patient person.

Anyone who knew him knew this to be true. He also practically had a stadium full of detentions, so that hadn't been helping his mood. Nor had the oppressive blanket of depression and worry that seemed to rest heavily atop the castle, drowning out all hope and glee under its insurmountable weight.

His best mate had also been taken out of Hogwarts, which made bearing the castle's misery all the more difficult. He liked Hermione; he really did, but she wasn't Ron. She was a fantastically supportive friend with enough intelligence for the three of them, but Ron made him light up in a way that Hermione couldn't. He could break the tension with a joke, or do something amusingly endearing without even realizing it. Hermione, for all of her talents, was reliably capable of neither of these things.

It had been a long week that compounded into a long year.

And now he'd been called to Lockhart's office.

He vaguely remembered how displeased the man had been with him after his duel with Harry. He wondered if this was Lockhart finally deciding to punish him, even though Dumbledore had assured him he wouldn't receive any punishment for that. In a court of law, anyone deemed to be mentally unstable enough to have not been considered liable for their actions couldn't be prosecuted. This was exactly how so many of Voldemort's Death Eaters had successfully avoided Azkaban through the use of the Imperius Defence. It was also exactly how Charlus had escaped that particular circumstance with little more than a plea to be far more careful in the future.

It wouldn't make sense for Lockhart to punish him since he was sure the man had been made aware of the details by now. He just couldn't think of any other reason why he might be summoned to his office. It wasn't yet curfew, but he was still escorted by Filch, something that made the experience a whole lot less pleasant. Charlus privately thought it was needless torture on the part of whoever had ordered that particular detail. If the Heir of Slytherin came strolling around the corner, it wasn't as if Filch, a notorious squib, could have done anything about it.

So lost was Charlus in his despair that he hardly realized the two of them had reached Professor Lockhart's office until Filch knocked sharply on the door. After a moment, he and Charlus were staring at the rather tired-looking form of Gilderoy Lockhart. Despite the obvious fatigue that had seemed to cling persistently to his visage over the past number of weeks, Lockhart managed a small smile at the sight of them.

"Ah yes, Mister Potter, do come in. Thank you for bringing him, Mr. Filch. I'll see him safely back to his common room when we are finished."

Filch didn't even acknowledge the comment. He just turned on his heel and shuffled back down the corridor, muttering something in a low voice that Charlus couldn't decipher.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I summoned you tonight?" said Lockhart, suddenly looking much less jovial and a lot more business-like.

Charlus nodded carefully. "Yes, sir. I wasn't expecting to be called to your office."

"No, I would have been surprised if you had been." Lockhart watched the Boy-Who-Lived carefully, intensely curious as to how he would react to his next proclamation. "You are obviously very eager to learn," Lockhart said pensively.

When it became apparent he was actually waiting for an answer, Charlus hastened to provide one. "Yes, sir. I need to get much better."

Lockhart seemed very satisfied with that answer. Charlus couldn't possibly know that it was his demeanour while answering that satisfied Lockhart more than the answer itself, but he also wouldn't have cared much one way or the other. The semantics hardly mattered when compared to the result.

"I'm glad to hear that." Lockhart sounded rather sincere, and Charlus dipped his head in thanks. "It only makes it all the more unfortunate that you were led so far astray." The young lion tensed, but Lockhart didn't look particularly upset. "Relax, Mister Potter. I have no intention of punishing you. As a matter of fact, I have a… proposition for you."

"A… proposition?"

"Yes, a proposition. You see, it's obvious that you want to learn. You certainly have the talent, and the drive is there, it's just not being applied in the right places. With the correct guidance, you could be something great." Lockhart's expression darkened. "With the wrong guidance, well, as we've seen…" he didn't need to finish.

"Are you… offering to teach me, sir?"

"I am indeed. I have spoken to Albus about this at length. According to him, he mentioned that he would like you to learn Occlumency?" Charlus nodded and Gilderoy did likewise. "A good idea. It would certainly have made your… situation much less dramatic. If you accept my offer, I'll help you with the meditative stages of Occlumency. My Occlumency is nothing spectacular, but it is more than sufficient. I will never be an Occlumency instructor, but I'm confident enough in my ability to teach a complete beginner.

"If you accept my offer, we'll spend about an hour twice a week working on this stage of Occlumency. It will take months before you can move past the meditative stage, so this will require a great deal of patience on your part."

Charlus set his jaw. "I'll work for as long as I need to."

"Good, good. If you accept, we will be spending an additional hour together each time we meet. This hour will be spent learning magic."

Charlus's eyes lit up. "What kind of magic, sir?"

Lockhart smiled thinly. "I am the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Charlus. I am an honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, and I have an Order of Merlin thanks to my own heroism. Surely you need not ask which sort of magic I will be teaching you?"

Charlus's face was practically glowing now as he nodded with fervour. "I accept, sir."

Lockhart's smile widened as he withdrew his wand and conjured a mat on the floor. "Very good, very good. Well then, let us begin."

* * *

_**January 17, 1993**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**9:14 PM**_

Harry dodged a well-aimed Cutting Curse from Cassius, sidestepping and countering with a basic Stunner. He and Cassius had been main duelling partners for the better part of the year. He was the least skilled of the four older students. Not that it was saying much. He was still probably one of the better fifth years in the school, and Harry had yet to beat him even once.

Something about this duel felt different.

He couldn't put his finger on what, aside from the new weapons that had been added to his repertoire over the past forty-eight hours.

After his practice with Grace, he had immediately rushed off to the Speaker's Den. He hadn't only studied slowly allowing emotion to leak through, but he'd also written in the book he used to communicate with Emily.

He had been rather candid with his questions, even if it had taken several minutes and a bit of gentle coaxing from the genius in question for him to finally ask said questions.

After listing off the tomes he had on the Dark Arts, he asked which would be the best to start with.

Calypso's, the one she'd sent the Christmas of his first year, was the answer she provided. The one Pettigrew gifted him for his birthday — the one he was now sure had been a plant — was ironically his second-best option, according to Emily.

That had given him a place to start, and he picked up some of the more basic curses rather quickly. He hadn't dipped into the more powerful and complex magic yet, but the boost to his arsenal was much appreciated.

He batted Cassius's next spell towards him and quickly fired off a Blinding Curse in return. Cassius's eyes widened as he dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a Full-Body-Bind follow up in the process.

When he got to his feet, the fifth-year Slytherin prefect looked to counter-attack, but no opening was there.

Harry was relying heavily on his Supplementary Occlumency, casting spells at a rapid rate and not allowing Cassius time to go on the offensive while forcing him to shield.

That was when Harry struck.

"Iapetus!"

He'd learned in the last number of days that spell — the same one Charlus had shot off towards him at the end of their duel — was the Piercing Hex. Rather fitting, considering Iapetus — Greek Titan of the West — was known as the Piercer.

It was one of his more powerful offerings, and it tore straight through Cassius's Protego shield, though the translucent barrier of magic did manage to absorb most of the impact.

It didn't matter.

Cassius was so taken aback by Harry managing to fail his shield after so many months of trying that he hardly even noticed that the Piercing Hex hadn't been the only spell Harry had fired.

Indeed, the spell hadn't been singular, but the first in a chain.

The follow-up Bludgeoner hit Cassius square in the chest, dropping him to his knees, before Harry's Banishing Hex sent him sailing backwards through the air. Mercifully, the duelling wards kept him from slamming into a solid wall, but he was still rather dazed when he'd hit the ground.

All in the room were quiet.

Their duel had been the longest, and so the others had been watching.

After about five seconds, Calypso began to clap, and even the Carrows followed. Cassius didn't, but he was offering Harry a smile that was equal parts annoyed, exasperated, and impressed.

Calypso was by his side in a moment, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as her blue eyes met his, sparkling as they did so. "And that," Calypso summarized succinctly, "is just a taste of what you'll one day be."

Harry couldn't help but smile.

He had no delusions that the only reason he'd beaten Cassius was because the boy in question had been taken aback and caught off guard, but that wasn't his problem.

As a matter of fact, he suspected most anybody who duelled him would fall into that trap.

It wasn't as if a twelve-year-old could pose any threat, right?

For now, Harry would rely on that advantage.

Until one day, he was powerful enough that he wouldn't need it.

Not against older students, nor professors, nor anyone.

Slowly but surely, he was making progress.

* * *

_**January 24, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons**_

_**9:07 PM**_

Grace pulled out of Charlotte's mind with a grimace. Her little sister was indubitably getting much better at Occlumency. She wasn't improving quite as fast as Grace was in Legilimency, but it was close, and once a certain level of Occlumency was achieved, it took a very highly skilled practitioner of Legilimency to breach an Occlumens mind.

"You're getting much better," Charlotte commented, seeming to be thinking along the same lines as Grace.

Grace grimaced once more. "So are you. I think it's safe to say you've now advanced past stage three and are on stage four."

Charlotte's eyes lit up. "I get to build a mind palace now then, don't I?"

"You do, but that will take months and months of practice. I don't expect you to have made a whole lot of progress on that even by the end of the school year."

"Is that a challenge?"

Grace smirked. Her sister loathed being told she couldn't, or most likely wouldn't be able to do something. "Take it as you will."

"A challenge it is, then." The two sisters exchanged brief smiles before Charlotte grew more serious. "I know it's late, but can I try something with Legilimency?"

"That depends on what it is you'd like to try."

"The transferring of emotions, impressions, and images."

Grace frowned. "That is… very advanced. Even for you."

"I'm an ambitious person."

Grace sighed; resigned to the fact that Charlotte wasn't going to drop this until she complied. "Fine, but we won't be staying all night."

Charlotte beamed as she readied her wand, though her older sister could never have realized the true implications of such a seemingly innocent request.

* * *

_**January 25, 1993**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**5:24 AM**_

Harry always rose early, but that fact had only become even more true since Daphne's disappearance just over two weeks ago.

He hadn't slept well since, though it had noticeably improved after his talk with Tracey and his training session with Grace.

There were other factors, too.

With Hogwarts on such tight restrictions due to the ongoing Heir of Slytherin crisis, Harry thought that sneaking out early in the morning would be his best opportunity to safely make it down to his dungeon classroom without being caught so that he could train.

Thus far, nobody had ever seen him leave the common room, though that was about to change.

"Potter."

The voice was only vaguely familiar. He had only heard it a handful of times in his life. It was soft yet strong, and rather cold by nature. He did recognize it, but if his memory was any less stellar, he most certainly would not have.

"Miss Black," he responded, turning and inclining his head to the Black Heiress.

"May I walk with you? I'd like a word. I… have something I'd like to ask you." She sounded shockingly unsure of herself during that last sentence, and Harry couldn't help but be intrigued.

Especially now that she was no longer hanging around with Draco Malfoy.

The morning after Aurors had arrived at the castle, Draco had been pulled from Hogwarts by his father. Lucius apparently wanted to send him to Durmstrang, whereas Narcissa vehemently wished for him to be schooled at Beauxbatons, if not Hogwarts. There was apparently a clause in Lucius and Narcissa's marriage contract that gave Narcissa a large degree of control over Draco's education. If this was true, the Malfoy Heir might well end up being the first of his line to attend Beauxbatons since his disgraced ancestors vacated the nation of France centuries earlier.

At least, that was what Pansy had told them, and nobody gossiped with such startling accuracy as Pansy Parkinson. If her match existed, Harry certainly hadn't met them yet.

Without their leader, Malfoy's group had sort of fallen into disarray. They'd somewhat grouped around Theodore Nott, but the designation didn't exactly seem rock-solid.

Harry found himself rather curious as to what Ares Black possibly wanted with him.

Wary, but curious.

"I can't let you walk all the way with me, but you can come for a bit if you'd like."

This was obviously an acceptable compromise, as Black was on her feet and by his side before he exited the Slytherin common room.

Knowing that their time would be limited, Harry spoke first. "What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I would like to slide into your group."

That had not been what Harry was expecting. He hadn't known what to expect, but that would have been very far down on his list of expectations had he made one.

Thanks to his Occlumency, his surprise didn't show. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I chose the group of friends I hang around with now purely because of Draco. Our families are close, and he was one of the only people I was ever allowed to spend actual time with. He was my first and only friend when I came to Hogwarts because I was never exactly given much of a choice. He was told to watch out for me at Hogwarts by his father, and he offered me a smooth entry into his group."

A part of Harry wanted to give her the same speech he'd given Pansy in regards to Malfoy, especially with the minute chance he'd been the Heir of Slytherin. He thought that chance was next to nothing, but there hadn't been an attack or disappearance since he was pulled from Hogwarts almost two weeks ago.

Something about Ares Black put him on edge. Something that he couldn't quantify, even to himself. Yet her words resonated with him.

Reading between the lines, he had little trouble deciphering the fact that she'd been isolated as a child; forced to have virtually no friends. By the time she had arrived at Hogwarts, she hadn't even bothered putting any real effort into making any new ones.

He could relate to both of those things.

"But you've hung around with that group for a while now," Harry said carefully, eliciting a small nod of agreement from his companion. "Surely you've made more friends by now?"

Ares shrugged. "It is a very business-centred group, Potter. I get the impression yours is a lot closer than ours. I was close with Draco, and I get on fairly well with Benedict, but he's been a ghost since October. He would only hang around me when Draco wasn't there and even then, he was quiet and not the same."

That was interesting.

October was around the time the _Daily Prophet _had so drastically switched its tune. "Cuffe is the son of the _Prophet's _editor, right?"

"And majority stakeholder, yes."

That was definitely suspicious. It lined up too well to be a mere coincidence in Harry's opinion.

It seemed he would have another request of Lord Malfoy as soon as he got somewhere with a quill and parchment.

"So you're only really close with Cuffe?"

"We're friendly, but not close." She levelled him with her intense eyes. Anybody else might have withered under her gaze, but Harry met it neutrally. "Surely you can understand why I'd like to shift groups? Crabbe and Goyle have the intellect of bricks and couldn't hold a conversation if their vaults depended on it. Mulciber and Jugson are around every now and then, but neither of them is overly interesting. Theodore is clever, but I find him taxing.

"You on the other hand… you're interesting."

Harry didn't react to that immediately; he just kept on walking. "Why do you say that?"

"You're probably the most intelligent student within a few years of my age, and you always seem to be in the centre of whatever's going on around here. It doesn't seem like you try to be. It just sort of happens."

And wasn't that the truth?

Harry had tried to stay out of this Chamber of Secrets business for the longest time, but his attempts had repeatedly been thwarted. He was still trying to come up with ideas to get Dumbledore out of the castle, but he hadn't been overly successful.

"Unlike Draco's group, you also seem to have no trouble standing up for what you believe in. In a Gryffindor-ish way, sometimes, but it's refreshing to see you as an actual human being. Not just a person who was practically turned into a political machine before they were ten."

Their footsteps echoed ominously against the flagged stone floor as they neared the suit of armour that would step aside and admit Harry into the secret passage that would lead him to his dungeon training room.

"Why should I trust you, Black?"

He thought it was a fair question. Her logic was sound, and he could find no fault with anything she'd said, but something about her still had him on edge.

But all doubts vanished when her lips curved up into a smile for the first time, and her eyes gleamed with something Harry couldn't discern.

"Because if you do, I can help you find the Heir of Slytherin."

* * *

_**February 1, 1993**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:39 AM**_

_Heir Potter,_

_I am pleased to inform you that the artifact we spoke of has been sold for the extremely generous sum we discussed. No fees will be taken out of the 12,000 galleons deposited into the vault you specified, as the Greengrass family will be covering all of them._

_Send me an owl if you have any questions._

_A pleasure doing business with you,_

_Veronica Tate_

So, the dagger had finally sold.

That put a rather sizable chunk of money in the vault which the Weitts family had already contributed to on his birthday. It added to the security net he was building should things suddenly fall apart, possibly as a result of Pettigrew's suspected plan.

Yet the dagger business wasn't the major news of the morning.

The major news, according to Pansy and the Hogwarts rumour mill, was that the Heir of Slytherin had struck again.

Lillian Moon, the small, quiet girl from Harry's year had gone missing last night without a trace and had yet to be found. Officially, the staff and Aurors weren't calling it a disappearance yet, but all in the castle could see the obvious signs of the Heir of Slytherin's work.

Harry was going to unmask the Heir of Slytherin.

This changed nothing. If anything, it only disproved the minuscule chance that it had been Draco, and it let him know that the person who'd made Daphne disappear was still running roughshod in the halls.

Hopefully not for much longer.

When the news had broken, Harry had shot a discreet glance in the direction of Ares Black, who had promised to help him investigate the situation a week ago; a promise that had gained her a tentative entry into Harry's circle of friends. He was assuming that fact was why Theodore Nott had been glaring at him more intensely than usual this last week.

When he had glanced towards Ares, she gave him a hard look full of meaning.

The message was clear.

She was already working on it.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**Not the longest nor the most eventful chapter ever, but it was a major one in terms of characterization, and it will set a lot of major events into motion. Some of them will be more obvious than others, but all of them will help us reach the climax of year two, which is closer than I think most of you expect.**

**These next few months will pass in the story rather quickly as the finale draws near, and I am tingling with excitement for you to all see how I plan to wrap up year two.**

**Please read and review.**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 12th, 2020. Or you can read it by joining my Discord server, or the next two by supporting me on P*T*E*N. The links can be found on my profile.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Athena Hope, CCCP, and discodancepant for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	45. SS Ch 27: Calculated Strikes Part II

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

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* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin **

**Chapter 27: Carefully Calculated Strikes Part II**

* * *

_**February 14, 1993**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:34 AM**_

Harry almost gawked at the sight that lay before him as he entered the luridly painted Great Hall.

The walls were done in rather vivid attempts at subtle accents. Subtle, in this case, just so happened to be subtle in the same way getting hit over the head was.

In other words, not subtle at all.

Likely, it was designed by Dumbledore or someone else on the staff who either wouldn't know subtlety if it punched them in the face, or was too old or too self-important to care.

In addition to the walls being painted red, two sets of armour now stood guard outside the Great Hall, one on either side of its large entry doors…

Two suits of armour that weren't made of armour at all.

This particular set of armoured defenders were instead made entirely out of white chocolate.

Harry presumed Dumbledore had done that. McGonagall surely could have, but he had a hard time believing the strict professor of Transfiguration would have a sense of humour that might lean in that direction. It seemed far more like something that Dumbledore would think up, and the Hogwarts Headmaster was doubtlessly capable of the feat.

Had Lockhart kept up his flamboyant persona from the beginning of the year, Harry would have easily categorized him in the same, eccentric boat as Dumbledore. Judging by what Lockhart had put forth since he took up his position among the other members of the illustrious Hogwarts staff, Harry didn't think it was his style.

No matter who had conjured the tacky excuses for decorations into being, Harry did not approve. However dumbstruck Harry looked, Blaise definitely looked worse. Harry looked as if he'd perhaps been insulted by a rather clever one-liner. Blaise, on the other hand, looked as if somebody had just blasted his mother with the Killing Curse.

"Stai scherzando, cazzo!" Harry peered curiously at Blaise, raising a brow in question. His friend just waved him off. "Just letting whatever idiot put all this up know that I do not at all approve."

Harry nodded intently. "You'll hear no disagreement from me."

The two of them took their seats near the middle of the Slytherin table. Tracey was already present, and apparently had been sitting long enough to take note of the heart-shaped confetti falling from the hall's enchanted ceiling like red and pink rain droplets. The strawberry blonde seemed to find it amusing, though Harry and the others found it rather cumbersome and altogether inconvenient.

By now, most of the school seemed to suspect Charlus as the Heir more than they did Harry, so he had lost his escorts. This left him able to move more freely through the castle. Or at least, it would have had it not been for the strict lockdown that was in effect any time students weren't going from class to class, or on their way to and from meals that the castle's elves were obligated to serve them. Harry noticed that Charlotte was sitting with Laine and Ginny closer to the end of the table.

He then became almost immediately distracted by the owl that landed in front of him, for the daily mail chose that moment to surge into the hall, carried by a multi-coloured cloud of wings, talons and feathers.

_Harry,_

_Your plan is, to put it lightly, bold. _

_I am sure you knew this already. Ignoring the obvious risks associated with such a daring move, it could work. That is also speaking of the risks that have no association with legality._

_Legally speaking, you are well within your rights to reveal the information you mentioned, as we discussed during the Yuletide break. However, revealing it this early does have its risks. _

_It will lessen the impact of the information when the time comes to use it as a weapon in a legal sense, but I don't think we will need the shock factor to win the upcoming case. And revealing it now would certainly accomplish your ideal outcome. At least, it would greatly raise the chances of it happening, though it probably wouldn't do so on its own. You did say you had something else planned in combination with this. If that something does come to fruition, please write to me as quickly as possible, so we can work everything into one carefully calculated strike that should hopefully accomplish your desired result._

_Legally, you cannot suffer any repercussions from revealing this, as we previously discussed. It may be frowned upon by some of the more traditional individuals walking on these aisles, but given the atrocities you will be revealing, and their… nature, I have little doubt you will instantaneously gain back any favour you might have lost with them, and more so._

_If you are going to go down this route, please do owl me once more when additional details are available._

_Regards,_

_Veronica Tate_

"Good news?" Blaise asked, looking completely indifferent as he queried. Harry knew Blaise well enough by now to know that looking indifferent was often the most obvious indicator that he was profoundly interested in the exact thing he was faking disinterest in.

"Hard to say," Harry answered carefully. "It's the news I was hoping for, but that doesn't mean everything will work out."

"One of those operations, is it?"

"Who said anything about an operation?"

"Harry, my dear chap, I know you too well. If you're this invested in mysterious owls from people who are probably far more important than you're letting on, you have something planned. Something beautiful, more than likely."

"If it goes well, it will be beautiful to me. I'm not sure how others will feel about it, but I can't say I care much one way or the other."

Blaise's lips twitched. "Exactly the right attitude, my friend. As long as your plans work out, their opinions hardly matter."

Harry looked thoughtful. "Whether it'll work out or not, I have no idea. I hope so, though. I just need certain… parties to come through with what they've promised."

As he said this, he glanced down the table to where a regal-looking girl sat with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, doing a stellar job of looking as if she cared nothing for anything in the world around her.

Harry met her eyes and she gave one, subtle nod.

The implications of which were obvious.

She had the information he was looking for.

Though as he would find out minutes later when a crumpled bit of parchment was slipped into his hand, the details were a bit… undecided.

_Harry,_

_I've got a lead on the Heir of Slytherin. _

_A memory, actually. _

_My great-uncle was a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors the same year the Chamber of Secrets was last opened. Apparently, he sat in on the meeting of the supposed heir getting expelled. The memory has been passed down through my family since then. My mother seems willing to let you in on it — since you are technically family. _

_The issue is actually getting you to see the memory._

_That requires a pensieve. My family has one, but the trouble will be getting you out to see it. With the lockdown, I'm not sure if the heirs and heiresses of Ancient and Most Noble Houses still legally have rights to leave the castle. Dumbledore would definitely try and stop you, but we just need to work out whether or not he would actually have the right to stop you._

_Once that's worked out, assuming it goes well of course, you'll be allowed a brief trip to my family's home to see the memory._

_After that, we should have a much better chance of taking down this Heir of Slytherin._

_Regards,_

_Ares_

Harry still felt an odd twinge of distrust in regards to Ares Black, despite the fact the two of them had spent a great deal of time together in the past number of weeks — ever since Ares had cornered him on his way out of the common room.

Her motives had been sound.

According to Ares, she was no pureblood supremacist, but she along with the rest of her family, was very much a traditionalist. This Heir of Slytherin attacking Hogwarts students was going to negatively impact the perception of traditionalists all around the country.

Oh, and the Heir had attacked the heiress to a Founding Twelve family.

In pureblood terms, that might as well have been high treason.

Still, something odd lurked at the corners of Harry's mind.

Something that warned him of the dangers associated with Ares Black.

Something that he hoped would be banished after he saw this memory.

A memory that would hopefully enable him to find and take revenge on the Heir of Slytherin.

* * *

_**February 17, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons**_

_**9:24 PM**_

Grace shivered as Charlotte withdrew from her mind.

She could have blocked her, but it wouldn't have been good practice.

For whatever reason, Charlotte was fixated on gaining proficiency in the implantation of emotions, impressions, and images. This process was done through the use of rather high-level Legilimency.

Forming the connection wasn't the problem, which was why initially defending really wouldn't have been the best way for Grace to help her younger sister learn. Charlotte needed to gain an intuitive feeling of exactly how it was done, as well as the necessary mental memory to make that desire a reality. It had taken some time to get the hang of, but now that Charlotte had a handle on the basic concept, the practice had gone splendidly and she had progressed at a rapid rate.

Grace was happy for her little sister.

This was a massive achievement for any Legilimens, and doing it at all was extremely difficult. Doing it at eleven… Grace wouldn't have been at all surprised if she learned Charlotte was the youngest person ever to achieve it at all.

Yet despite all of that, Grace still had no idea what about the technique interested Charlotte so much. She hoped it was worth it, because having foreign things planted in one's thoughts was not at all comfortable, and she had a rather ominous feeling about what exactly Charlotte might use it for in the future.

* * *

_**February 19, 1993**_

_**Merrymount - Family Support and Crisis Centre**_

_**7:32 PM**_

Dudley Dursley had gone through a rather horrid number of months.

He was an absolute wreck and had hardly slept since he awoke Christmas morning to the morbidly ironic sight of his mother, lying motionless upon her bed. His aunt had fled, and she was suspected by the authorities as the murderer. Marge was found later that day. Just like the woman she had apparently murdered, she had been found dead.

Losing his mother, father and aunt within the span of less than one-hundred hours had been a lot to take in. Especially for Dudley Dursley, who had grown up spoiled rotten and largely sheltered from the horrors of the world by the seemingly impenetrable bubble of protection his mother had done her utmost best to raise him in.

If you would have asked Dudley if he were spoiled two months ago, he would have become furious at such an outlandish insinuation. Now, eight-or-so weeks later, he was finally realizing exactly how fortunate he'd been for much of his life.

And worse, how unfortunate his cousin had been.

Granted, Dudley would kill to be a wizard right about now, even if magic still scared the living daylights out of him. Maybe then, he could bring his family back. That had been how it had worked in all of those video games and cartoons, at least. Dark sorcerers raising zombies from the dead.

Dudley frowned at that. He didn't want zombies. He wanted his parents back. He wondered whether or not doing such a thing was possible with the freakish force of nature that his cousin seemed to have at his disposal.

Thoughts of his cousin were depressing now.

Just about everything about Dudley Dursley's life was depressing, nowadays.

The police officers had lightly questioned him after the events of Christmas Eve. When they had quickly concluded he had nothing to do with the apparent strangulation of Petunia, he had been shipped off to an orphanage — one that was apparently best-suited for his current needs.

Merrymount - Family Support and Crisis Centre.

The orphanage wasn't horrible.

Dudley couldn't truly complain that he'd been treated poorly, or that he'd been underfed, or anything of the like. None of that had lessened the impact of his sudden shift of reality. He had gone from the pampered son of a well-off family who spoiled him rotten, to just another kid in a mildly underfunded orphanage. They had everything they needed and the building was in good shape. None of this was a problem. In truth, there really weren't any groundbreaking problems.

Dudley just desperately missed the life he'd become accustomed to.

He missed the endless amounts of time spent in front of the television. He missed the vast array of toys that were constantly at his disposal. He missed the practically nonexistent set of rules that had been lackadaisically enforced upon him. He yearned for the small mountain of gifts placed lovingly under the large Christmas tree that had dominated much of his family's living room the last time he'd seen it.

But more than anything, he missed his parents.

Dudley was a very materialistically driven person.

He wasn't the sharpest boy around, but he wasn't stupid enough to not figure that out. He was well aware of it, he just didn't particularly care one way or the other.

Or at least, he hadn't until now.

Now that he was bunking with another, older boy and sleeping on a battered, old mattress. Now that his meal plan left his stomach growling at most hours of the day — as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. Now that he wasn't so much the leader of his gang of friends and followers as much as he was the new, intimidating kid that everybody avoided at all costs.

He hated it.

For the first time in his life, he even sympathized with his cousin.

He had never done that before because, in all honesty, he'd never really thought much about it.

His parents — his father in particular — had always preached just how freakish and horrid Harry really was. When a message was drilled bluntly into your mind from the age of about two-years-old, that message tended to take; logic be damned. Especially when those drilling it fiercely into your mind were the two people you looked up to and admired more than anyone else in the world.

Now, he had some perspective.

He'd thought a lot about Harry over the past two-or-so months. Truly thought about him for the first time; with no trace of his parents' rhetoric to stand in the way of his ability to see the truth clearly.

It was a terrifying sight.

For the first time, he truly saw how much his cousin had suffered. Both at the hands of his parents, as well as his suffering as a direct result of his — Dudley's — own actions.

He saw that the way he was being treated now — which was slowly but surely stripping him of everything he had ever known — was exactly how his cousin had been treated since he had arrived on their doorstep all those years ago.

Except not quite.

The way his cousin had been treated was even worse, and that thought made him shudder.

Just as his musings became particularly dark, there came a knock on the door. He was alone in his shared bedroom at the moment. His roommate — a tall, lanky boy named Charlie — was out playing with friends in the snow.

Dudley wasn't interested in joining them.

None of them wanted to play with him anyway.

The door slowly creaked open before Dudley had even provided verbal permission. One of the matrons stuck her head through the door. "You have a visitor, Dudley."

Dudley blinked in bafflement. "I do?"

"Yes, you do. He's… well... I'll let him tell you."

The matron stepped aside and back out of the way, allowing the other man to enter the room as she closed the door. He was perhaps the oddest man Dudley had ever seen, simply because he was so… discrete.

He wore a stylish grey suit and a light coloured tie, as well as dark dress pants. Aside from that, Dudley had a hard time discerning anything about him, one way or the other.

His build was… average.

Everything about it seemed to be exactly what Dudley thought an average person might look like. His face… his eyes just seemed to slide effortlessly over it without ever taking in a detail. It wasn't even that he couldn't remember it as much as his brain just couldn't register it. Or perhaps it just couldn't comprehend what it was seeing.

"Good afternoon, Mister Dursley."

His voice was just like the rest of him. Dudley couldn't describe it; it just sort of rolled over him. Despite its oddities, it did snap him out of his dumbstruck stupor. "Uh… hello?"

The man smiled. "I've heard you've been through a very long few months, Mister Dursley."

Dudley's face scrunched up. "I don't need somebody to talk to about it."

"Of course not," the odd man said patiently. "That's not what I'm here for, so there's no need to worry about that. I'm not sure that would be my area of expertise. I wish it was though. Much more pleasant business, that. I wasn't particularly happy when I was called to oversee this job, but sacrifices must be made, I suppose."

"Who are you?" Dudley asked bluntly.

The man's lips twitched. "For the sake of this meeting, Mister Dursley, my name is Mundane."

Dudley's face contorted, as if he were thinking very hard. He didn't know what mundane meant, but it didn't exactly seem like a name. More like some complicated word he hadn't yet learned.

"Odd name," he commented.

The man chuckled. "Odd indeed. Not quite as odd as some of the things that have happened around you over the past number of months though, hm?"

Dudley paled. "W-w-what are you talking about?"

The man sighed. "There's no need to be afraid, Mister Dursley. I won't be doing you any harm. Nor will my partner. He's… seeing to other things, at the moment."

"Are you… one of them?"

"Them?"

"The… the… freaks who can cast magic!"

The man frowned. "A bit crude, but yes, I can cast magic."

"What do you want? Did you k-kill them? Are you here to kill me too?"

"Mister Dursley, please calm down. I've already told you; we're not here to do you any harm. If anything, we're here to keep you safe." He frowned deeply. "You and some very important secrets."

"W-what are you going to do?"

"That depends on you, Mister Dursley. For now, we're going to do the bare minimum. Usually, this would be very simple. We would wipe your memory of anything involving magic and be done with the whole thing." Dudley's skin lost even more colouration — if such a thing was even possible.

"That won't work with you," the man continued.

Dudley opened his mouth to ask why it wouldn't work, but decided about halfway through the motion he didn't really want to know. Just the idea of having his memories erased made him feel ill.

"Your cousin is a person of interest," the man said anyway, as if reading his thoughts. "Not just for us, but others. Memory wipes aren't perfect, Mister Dursley. They can be overcome, and we suspect certain individuals would overcome them if they felt the need. This would be a problem because the thing with memory charms is that if you're good enough to detect them, it's not that hard to actually do it. If… certain individuals found out you were under one, they would become dangerously curious."

"So w-w-what are you g-going to do?"

"We are going to store your more directly traumatic memories away with the use of some relatively unknown magic. You will be keeping all of your memories of magic that aren't directly related to the death of your parents. If we locked all of those away, it would give those same individuals reasons to be suspicious, just like the memory wipe." He paused. "And anything involving this meeting, of course.

"Now, the other tricky thing here is that we can't well take all of your memories about magic — for the reason I just said. I would be very surprised if somebody didn't come poking around at some point. If they suddenly noticed ten years of missing memories, that would be a problem. Erasing that many memories is also never a clean job. The more you take from a person, the less of a person they are at all.

"By the time my colleague arrives, we will have eyes all over this building. Having been let in on the secrets of the magical world, it is now your responsibility to our government to maintain the International Statute of Secrecy. That is what keeps all wizards separate from all muggles. It's a worldwide bill that forces wizards to hide their existence from muggles. We still don't know how the initial worldwide memory wipe was done.

"Anyway, it is now your responsibility to maintain this, just as it is ours. This is the one thing we will be leaving you with from today's meeting. An undeniable, unexplained obligation to maintain this statute. If you for some reason choose to fight and overcome this compulsion, we will have eyes all around you. If you speak of it, we will know."

The lock on the door clicked and it creaked open right on cue, as if the finishing of this man's statement had prompted it to open. Dudley, shocked into complete silence and feeling completely numb with terror, might have thought that exact thing had happened, since they had magic, but he was in no state to think such coherent thoughts.

The man who stepped into the room next had the same odd effect as Mundane. Dudley couldn't make out a single detail about them aside from the fact that they were male. Even then, Dudley could be mistaken, seeing as they were clearly using magic.

"Ah, yes, Mister Dursley, this is the colleague I told you about. Mister Dursley, meet MI11." Dudley just looked even more confused now — that was an even odder name than Mundane. It sounded as if he were some James Bond wannabe.

"Now, Mister Dursley," Mundane continued, "here is how this will work." The other man, MI11, reached a hand to the pocket of his robes and withdrew a vial of completely colourless liquid. "MI11 is going to use magic to isolate the memories we discussed. When this is done, I will administer this potion, which will lock away all pre-isolated memories. It is completely undetectable and is a department secret. Do you understand?"

"I… I don't want to! Please, don't—"

Mundane sighed sadly, a genuinely regretful expression plastered onto his discrete mask. "I'm truly sorry, Mister Dursley, but I'm afraid this isn't an option."

MI11 had slipped a long, dark piece of wood from his sleeve before Dudley could protest any further, and he went stiff with fear when it aimed directly at his forehead.

"Legilimens!"

* * *

_**February 20, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons **_

_**9:34 PM**_

Saturdays were the days Charlotte spent helping Harry learn Legilimency, while Harry taught her combat magic on Tuesdays. Largely, this was because Harry had his own combat training on Saturdays, which would take place in several hours with his older set of friends.

He presently found himself exhausted.

Charlotte was a very good teacher, just like Grace.

Legilimency was more complicated, in many ways. There were so many variables, all of which, if possible, you were aiming to control and manipulate to your advantage.

Charlotte had concluded rather early in their practice that Harry was indeed a Natural Legilimens. Though, he had a much lesser affinity for Legilimency than her. His progression was apparently stellar, but it was hard to judge with Natural Legilimentes. They sort of just got to skip steps.

For one thing, using wandless Legilimency wasn't supposed to be possible until one reached stage four of the art. The thing was, Harry could already sort of do that. If somebody had no Occlumency defences to speak of, he could glean their basic surface thoughts through eye contact alone. One might think this automatically meant Harry was a level four Legilimens, but that wasn't true either.

He was definitely beyond the first level.

By the end of stage one, it was expected that a Legilimens would be able to form a connection with another person's mind and see the barest trace of surface thoughts and emotions.

Harry was well beyond this.

He had been for many years, which was exactly how he and Charlotte had confirmed their theory in regards to Natural Legilimency being an innate ability of his.

Stage two, on the other hand, was more about control as opposed to forming the connection. By the end of stage two, one would be capable of manipulating unguarded minds in such a way that you could actually see their memories. This was assuming they had no Occlumency to speak of and the ability — at this stage — would be very rudimentary, but it would exist.

Level three was an expansion of level two. It was the level where a Legilimens gained the admirable ability to sift through unguarded thoughts, and it was also the level in which they could consistently be counted upon to overpower rudimentary Occlumency defences.

After that, it got more… vague.

Level four, in many ways, was a repeat of level one, just wandlessly, while also honing the skills of mental manipulation. Levels five through seven… Harry honestly wasn't sure. He hadn't looked that far ahead. He suspected Charlotte was somewhere around stage five, though he'd never asked, and she had never offered up the information.

This system didn't work for Natural Legilimentes.

To use Harry as an example, he was capable of very basic wandless Legilimency, but he could only glean very active surface thoughts. Anybody with an ounce of competency in Occlumency would never even notice his failed attempt to breach their thoughts unless they were extremely in tune with their mind, since the attack would be so weak by comparison. Yet despite having an ability that was said to be more advanced, Harry was currently working through the level two material. Manipulating one's mind into showing him specific images and memories was still beyond him, even if he was making tremendous progress.

He wasn't sure which he preferred the aftereffects of — Occlumency or Legilimency. Both usually left him with headaches, but where Occlumency usually left him mentally exhausted; Legilimency usually left him in a rather sluggish state of mind. He just didn't feel as sharp. Oftentimes, he would feel something akin to being disoriented for hours. Charlotte told him this was natural for beginners. It even happened to her at times, when she tried something particularly advanced or spent an abnormally large amount of time in the thoughts of another.

Harry was so disoriented after their lesson that he almost didn't catch Charlotte's hollow, clinical warning.

"I'm doing it soon."

He shook his head slowly, as if to shake a dusting of cobwebs from his brain before he slowly began to comprehend what she'd just said. "Doing what soon?"

"You know, the plan."

He didn't know the plan at all, but he did at least know what she was talking about now.

Her strike on Mulciber and Jugson was drawing near.

It had been ages since their attack on Charlotte, but she'd been rather distracted by the fiasco at the Hogwarts Duelling Club's one and only meeting, the holidays, and then, of course, Daphne's rather tragic disappearance.

Just the thought of it made Harry's gut clench.

His solicitor had been in a bit of a battle regarding the legality of him leaving the castle. While it was technically on lockdown, the wording put forth by the Wizengamot technically stated that was only true after curfew, so students could attend classes during the day. The problem with this wording was that, in Tate's well-educated opinion, it left loopholes. Loopholes that they were trying to exploit. According to her last letter, she hoped to have the issue resolved by the end of the week. Though she also warned that after they abused this loophole, there was a good chance the Wizengamot was going to make sure there was no chance of them doing so a second time.

That was fine by Harry.

He would just make his one and only absence from the castle in the near future count.

He had no plans of leaving again anyway. Not that such things as plans had ever stopped fate from toying with him before. He still fondly remembered the early portion of the year, when he'd still been under the naively false illusion that he would be able to avoid the chaos this year. All he wanted was a nice, quiet year.

Then this Heir of Slytherin bastard had to go and make things personal, and his cold war had begun.

"And you think it will work?" Charlotte nodded. "You won't tell me if I ask, will you?" She shook her head. "Will you tell me after it's over?" She hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Just tell me it's well thought out, and that whatever it is, it will end it? Nothing that might give Mulciber or Jugson a chance to fire back at you."

"It will end it," Charlotte said in a rather firm tone of voice. "I doubt they're going to want anything to do with me after this."

Harry made a mental note to keep an eye on Charlotte for both the next few days, and after whatever revenge she had planned was enacted, whether it worked or not.

As if he needed anything else to occupy his time.

* * *

_**February 22, 1993**_

_**The Slytherin Common Room**_

_**9:03 PM**_

Harry wasn't sure what he thought of déjà vu.

There were a countless number of theories pertaining to it all around the globe. From what he could tell, the magical world didn't seem to have any better explanation for it than the muggle world.

Well, not for true déjà vu, at least.

He knew exactly where this feeling came from, as he had been in a remarkably similar situation the night Mulciber and Jugson had made their attempt to butcher Charlotte with the cursed dagger — which he'd now sold to Bellatrix Black — and drug her with the mysterious potion, which he still had locked away in his Parseltongue-protected trunk.

Just like that night, he was thoroughly thrashing Blaise in a game of chess a few minutes after Charlotte had left the common room.

The only key difference was that this time, he could see that both Mulciber and Jugson were present, which was only natural considering the adjusted curfew had come into effect some time ago.

They were both in the common room, this time.

At least until Harry saw Mulciber glance from side to side several times before slinking predatorily out of the common room's entrance.

Harry's heart rate quickened as his eyes narrowed. Either Charlotte had been set up again, which Harry highly doubted, or this was part of her plan.

How she'd managed to lure Mulciber out after curfew in times like these, he had no idea.

He did know one thing though.

If something went wrong, he would be ready.

He not only owed it to Charlotte, whether she liked it or not, but he'd promised Grace.

"Checkmate," he said quietly, moving his knight into striking distance.

Blaise scoffed. "Only a check, dimwit."

"I would beat you in two more turns and it'll have to do for now."

Harry could practically see Blaise's ears perk up. "Ah, yes. Business to attend to, I see?"

Laine looked sharply up towards Harry. He'd seen and spoken to her a lot more since the castle had been put on lockdown. Primarily because he found it more difficult to slip off, so he was actually forced to spend more time with people.

He liked Laine, though — Weasley as well.

She was still quiet at times, but certainly less than she had been months earlier and she had fire.

There were no doubts about that.

Laine tilted her head slightly towards the door, obviously asking a silent question.

Are you going after them?

Obviously, he hadn't been the only one who had noticed the similarity to months earlier.

Minutely, he nodded, right before taking a deep breath and fading straight out of existence, making his way out of the common room while completely invisible.

* * *

_**Twenty minutes later…**_

Alex Jugson had felt rather suspicious all day.

He wasn't exactly sure why.

He hadn't had any particular reason to feel this way, it was just a deep-rooted intuition that he couldn't shake.

His mounting sense of paranoia hadn't been sated when his best friend, Derrick Mulciber, had left their common room about twenty minutes ago. What made him even more nervous was that Weitts wasn't in the common room either.

Neither he nor Mulciber had forgotten the incident back in November when the two of them — with the help of an interested third party — had launched a strike against Weitts that was supposed to put the whole feud to bed. Even then, Alex had felt as though Mulciber and their aide had escalated things a bit far. He didn't much like Weitts either, but doing something so drastic was a major risk. Especially when their target was a member of House Weitts; a family that was equally as dangerous as they were mysterious.

Both he and Mulciber knew that Charlotte Weitts hadn't forgotten the incident. Nor had Harry Potter, who concerned Jugson far more than Charlotte. After watching him completely and effortlessly obliterate Draco the night of Samhain, Potter rose rather rapidly on his list of people not to fuck with under any circumstances.

There had also been the prospect of him being the Heir of Slytherin. But since Greengrass had vanished back in January, most of the school seemed to have removed Potter's name from their list of prospects. Many of them were fixated on his more well-known twin, Charlus, but Jugson didn't think that to be at all likely. He didn't particularly think Slytherin Potter to be responsible either, but he thought him a whole lot more likely than the Boy-Who-Lived.

All of this was to say that Harry Potter was somebody who Alex Jugson thought was dangerous.

Which was why when he saw the second-year Slytherin slip out of the common room just minutes after his best friend left, he felt his pulse quicken as his danger senses reached new levels of tingling.

That was when Alex Jugson was met with a split-second decision.

Leave the common room and go looking for Mulciber, hopefully in time to warn him of what screamed of an ambush?

Or stay in the safety of the common room and let events unfold?

The latter was definitely the more Slytherin answer.

It was the answer that he would have taken on most days.

In fact, it was the answer he would have taken that day, had he not felt an unnatural level of concern for his best friend.

A concern that had been swelling and swelling ever since earlier that day, when he'd felt and returned the bluish-silver eyed stare that had practically been boring a hole into him whilst he did his prep.

* * *

_**Ten minutes later…**_

For a time, Alex Jugson thought he might have actually been overthinking things. He checked classroom after classroom, but he never found Mulciber or Weitts.

He had been considering just returning to the common room, at that point. After all, he would be in serious trouble if he were to be caught out after the strictly-enforced curfew by one of the Aurors or professors strolling through the halls.

But he didn't return to the common room.

That same sense of paranoia that felt worryingly unlike him was persisting. He found himself still on the search until finally, it happened.

He instinctively knew he'd come to the right door before he even opened it.

It was the same classroom he and Mulciber had dragged Weitts into back in November. He should have known it would be this one. Poetic justice practically demanded it. Slipping his wand into his hand and readying it, Jugson pushed the door open… and immediately conjured a shield to block the number of spells that sailed towards him.

His shield crumbled almost immediately, forcing him to dive to the side. The power of Weitts's spells was impressive. His shield should have certainly lasted much longer than it had. He scrambled back to his feet and tried valiantly to return fire, but the skirmish was over in seconds, and he found himself bound and wandless by its conclusion. He knew a few nasty curses, but he had never been a duellist. Weitts was probably the best in their year, aside from maybe Ares Black. Either way, Jugson should have realized he had a chance, but he'd seen Mulciber's motionless form, and he couldn't help but feel a protective urge to lash out.

Perhaps he might have rethought things if he knew that, in addition to her own natural talent, Weitts had been practicing combat magic with Harry Potter for the past month and a half or so.

Before he knew it, Weitts had crouched over him, and her cool fingers had slipped under his chin, tilting his eyes up to meet hers. "I'll make this a bit easier on you," she hissed with heat in her voice. "You may be nothing but a follower, but I am still making damn sure this is the final strike." Her wand was pressed to his temple before he could do so much as move, and his mind froze with horror as those signature eyes found him.

"Legilimens!"

Jugson had never learned Occlumency, but he suddenly wished he had.

He knew what that spell did, even if he didn't know a way around it. Most purebloods didn't learn the art until they were at least thirteen or fourteen. Many never learned it at all, unless they were the heir or heiress of an important family. Or unless their family was particularly paranoid. Teaching Occlumency too young could be disastrous if you didn't very much trust the person you were teaching to use the art responsibly. It was a great power, but one that could have disastrous consequences for the user if it were abused or mishandled. That mixed with the struggles of a developing mind turned most adults away from teaching their children at a young age, but Alex suddenly wished nothing more than knowing the mental defence.

Charlotte ripped effortlessly into his thoughts and he suddenly wanted to scream as pure and utter terror erupted in every corner of his mind. His worst fears surfaced, and the worst memories of his life started flashing past his eyes. He thought he really screamed that time, but couldn't be sure. He shouldn't have been able to but it sort of felt as though he'd screamed, and he certainly wanted to… oh, how he wanted to.

He also didn't feel his bowels fail as a putrid stench filled the room.

During a span of about five minutes — which, to Jugson, felt like barely more than a few seconds — Charlotte had made two things very clear to him. Things that had been little more than foreign concepts seconds earlier, but things that were now as deeply-rooted as his basic, human instincts.

All of his worst fears had come to life in the past number of minutes, and he had a new one.

Charlotte Weitts.

* * *

Charlotte let out a deep exhale when she exited the room, finally releasing the hold she'd had on her nose to block out the horrid stench emanating from both boys.

This had been the final strike.

It was what Harry had told her all that time ago that had stuck.

It had to be decisive and on at least the same level as what they'd tried to do to her. At the same time, it had to leave no room for a counter-attack.

Charlotte had taken that to heart, quite literally constructing her carefully calculated strike around the idea of providing no avenue for return-fire.

After weeks of exhaustive practice with Grace, she had been confident enough to put her plan into motion.

It helped that she knew from passive intrusions that neither Mulciber nor Jugson knew any Occlumency. It practically made them sitting ducks, and it was a blatant weakness that Charlotte had immediately known could be exploited.

For the past week, she had been subtly pushing feelings of suspicion into Mulciber's mind every time their eyes met. She wasn't nearly as skillful in the practice without a wand as she was with one, but after numerous, persistent pushes, the message seemed to have sunk in.

Specifically, she had made Mulciber very suspicious of her, and she had been very careful to make sure he saw her exit the common room after curfew.

She'd known he would follow her, and she was waiting to ambush him.

He was a decent duellist, but nothing spectacular. After constantly getting outclassed by Harry, duelling Mulciber was easy. Compared to her slightly older friend, Mulciber practically felt as if he were moving in slow motion.

Once he'd fallen, wandless and bound, she had executed the core of her plan.

Breaching his mind and finding out what he feared the most, then pulling up any memories she could find for those fears, before forcing them to play over and over again while amplifying the paranoia through Legilimency. The final touch was inserting a healthy amount of fear for herself and, above all else, the notion that a counter-strike would be a very bad idea.

She had raised suspicion in Jugson's mind, too, but less so than Mulciber. A different kind of suspicion, at least. A protective kind of suspicion that lent itself well to entering a dangerous situation for one who you called a friend.

When he had entered the room some time later, she had simply repeated the process, though she had been very slightly less cruel. He was a follower, and Charlotte doubted he'd had any input on the prior events. That didn't mean she held back, either. She just hadn't overextended herself in quite the same way she had when it had come to Mulciber.

She was sure she had succeeded, though if either boy had known a shred of Occlumency, she probably wouldn't have.

She presently found herself leaning against the wall, breathing a bit heavily.

That trick had been more taxing than she had expected, and she felt so light at the feeling of freedom that had washed over her once revenge had been fulfilled that her limbs almost felt numb.

"We shouldn't be out in the open like this. Curfew is enforced pretty harshly, these days."

Charlotte would have jumped a foot into the air had she felt strong enough to do so, or if she hadn't recognized the voice.

As it was, she let herself be guided into a nearby classroom by the boy who she was both teaching and learning from.

"If you helped me in any way," was the first thing she said.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "I didn't, I promise. I'll swear an oath if you'd like. This one seems black and white enough for it to work well."

Charlotte shook her head. She could tell he was being honest.

Well, he was actually being partially honest, but she could just tell he wasn't lying.

After all, he had nudged her in the right direction back in December when her plan had been far more shallow.

He had effectively led her to decide upon a plan he would approve of, she just didn't realize that.

"No, it's okay. I believe you."

"Naturally," he said with some amusement. "Care to tell me what you actually did?"

Charlotte hesitantly explained all she had done both to prepare and execute the plan. She was nervous how he would take it. She couldn't explain why. It had worked, so his opinion after the fact shouldn't have mattered to her, but it did.

To her utter relief, he graced her with a genuine smile when she had concluded.

"Well," he'd said, "that accomplished what it needed to, so I'm glad you can learn as well as you can teach." He'd smirked at that. "Lucky you can do the latter, too, because you are definitely teaching me that when I'm ready."

* * *

_**February 28, 1993**_

_**The Headquarters of the Daily Prophet**_

_**1:30 PM**_

"Ah, Heir Potter. I've been expecting you. Lucius did say you would be punctual, after all. Please do come in! An honour to meet you at last."

Harry graced Rita Skeeter with a well-practiced smile. He couldn't say he was particularly thrilled to meet her, but she could potentially be of great use. She could better fill this job than anyone in the country. Harry didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, but she seemed all too willing to work with him, at least for now. Best to take full advantage of that luxury while it was still at his disposal.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Skeeter."

"Oh, please, call me Rita." Skeeter was practically simpering. Harry hadn't told Lucius exactly what news he wanted to break to Skeeter. Just that it would put both James Potter and Albus Dumbledore in exceptionally hot water.

He felt a nearly unnoticeable pang of guilt for the first, but savage pleasure at putting a dent in the facade of the second. James had actually treated him rather well this year. He'd even saved him from potential expulsion. At the very least, that search would have turned up a number of very unsavoury items Harry was more than happy not to get caught with. James really had been decent over the past few months; he'd even written Harry a number of times. They talked about small, mundane things in those bits of correspondence.

No matter how hard he tried though, Harry doubted James could ever make up for his past mistakes now.

They were just too impactful, and they numbered far too high.

Sending Harry to the Dursleys and completely abandoning him had been horrid.

For some reason, Harry had still felt compelled to give his father a second chance.

A second chance that he had totally botched by breaking the most important promise he'd ever made to Harry. It also just so happened to be the only promise he'd ever made to Harry. If anything, Harry just thought that made it even worse.

Sending him _back _to the Dursleys had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

He doubted he would ever forgive his father, and he sure as hell hadn't done so yet.

And Dumbledore… he could not care any less what happened to Dumbledore, so long as it was both unpleasant and unnecessarily drawn out.

It didn't seem to matter what Harry had told Lucius. He must have correctly assumed it was something particularly juicy, for Skeeter was salivating more than a dog staring down a bone.

"Rita, then. Call me Harry, if you'd like." It wasn't something Harry was completely comfortable with, but alas, some sacrifices did have to be made.

Rita smiled widely. "Of course, Harry. Shall we get straight to business then?" Harry nodded solemnly and Rita unzipped a horridly garish handbag, pulling from it several pieces of parchment and a rather distinct-looking quill.

Definitely not a Quick Quotes Quill, as Tate had been very adamant Skeeter would sign papers banning their use before she spoke with Harry at all.

"Now, Harry," Rita said in a perfectly modulated voice that conveyed sympathy and understanding. "I heard from Lucius that you might have some… hard truths to tell me today?"

Harry took a deep, centring breath, and the interview began.

* * *

_**That night, at Black Manor…**_

The portkey that took Harry to Black Manor deposited him directly in the entrance hall, much like Lucius Malfoy's had done during Yuletide break.

He was not only greeted by a house elf — who promptly relieved him of his travelling cloak — but also by the lady of the house.

"La… Bellatrix."

It was odd to be expected to speak so familiarly with somebody in her position. Especially when the two of them barely knew each other.

Her lips twitched. "It's nice to see you as well, cousin. I wish we could speak more, but I have to be at a gathering to discuss the fallout from today's Wizengamot meeting. I trust you can see yourself out? The main floo has one-way access, so just pop over to the Three Broomsticks when you leave."

"It's no trouble," Harry said smoothly as the two of them began to walk down a particularly dark corridor. Come to think of it, the manor in general had a very grim, ominous feel to it. "Anything interesting come up at today's Wizengamot meeting?"

"A tidbit or two," Bellatrix said amusedly, her voice slightly sing-song. "You did come up, so that was interesting."

"They're going to patch the loophole I used to leave the castle?"

"They are. The rights of heirs and heiresses to leave Hogwarts will soon be repealed during times of official lockdown of the castle. The vote will happen next Sunday, but I doubt the bill will face much opposition."

Harry nodded. "Anything else?"

"There have been proposals to repeal the section of the Hogwarts Charter that bans Aurors or other occupying forces from entering the castle. Modifying it, at the very least."

The two of them had come to a large sitting room, and the pensieve was laid out on a mahogany table.

"Have you ever used a pensieve?" Bellatrix asked. Harry shook his head. "It's simple. Just touch the liquid and it will pull you into a third-person viewing of the memory. The right memory is already primed and waiting." She had an odd gleam in her eye as she spoke, but Harry ignored it as he thanked her, watching the lady of House Black leave before he made his way to the pensieve and entered into the memory.

The sensation was just as Ares had told him.

He landed in the familiar setting of the Headmaster's office, though it looked very different to how he remembered it.

Dumbledore was present, but he looked far younger, and Harry doubted this was his office at the time the memory took place. His hair and beard were still auburn, not the silver it would later become. His face was also less lined, and he just generally looked more exuberant.

Contrary to Dumbledore, the man who did sit behind the office's main desk looked ancient and weathered. He looked even older than present-day Dumbledore did, and the forlorn expression on his face just made him look somehow older.

There were six others in the room.

Three of them appeared to be Ministry officials. That made sense if they were dealing with the Heir of Slytherin at the time, especially knowing via the _Daily Prophet's _summary of the Wizengamot meeting of January the fourteenth that the highest number of officials that could be sent to Hogwarts was three.

Also in the room was a well-dressed man with perfectly controlled hair, high, regal-looking cheekbones and dark, grey eyes.

This was obviously Ares's great uncle, Phineas Black.

The most recent one, that was. Not the notorious Hogwarts Headmaster from the late nineteenth century.

The two other occupants of the room interested Harry more than anyone.

The first was instantly recognizable.

He looked to only be about thirteen or fourteen, but Rubeus Hagrid couldn't exactly blend into a crowd, even at that age. He was already nearly seven feet tall and much bulkier than any grown man had the right to be.

Yet it was the girl that drew Harry's attention and curiosity more than even Hagrid, who seemed remarkably out of place in this room.

She appeared to be several years older than Harry. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. An upper year, surely. The first things to strike Harry were her height and posture. She was unnaturally tall as is, and the way she stood straight with perfect, superior-looking posture made her seem even taller. It was her who Harry landed closest to, and the height difference between the two of them would have been quite amusing to an onlooker, despite the obvious discrepancy in age. She had to be at least six-feet tall, and Harry thought her a couple inches more than that. Unnatural for a woman, but not freakishly so. It went naturally with her posture, and Harry oddly couldn't picture her any other way. The two factors blended together perfectly, and they only added to the quiet air of power she seemed to exude.

Adding to the royal image was her pale, perfect skin, soft, regal features and dark, intense eyes.

She wore Slytherin robes, and Harry immediately spotted the prefect's badge shining proudly upon them.

What happened next baffled Harry.

"I'm sorry, Rubeus," the old man behind the desk said heavily. Referring to his memory of the past headmasters, Harry realized this must be Armando Dippet. According to _Hogwarts, A History,_ the man had been the Headmaster who had preceded Dumbledore. He had apparently lived more than three-hundred years.

"I didn't!" Hagrid moaned. "I'd never!"

"Are you saying one of my prefects is lying, boy?" Dippet's voice was suddenly sharp, and Hagrid looked exactly as if that was what he'd meant to say.

"I would never!" Hagrid said again, and Dippet's eyes suddenly turned to the tall Slytherin girl wearing the prefect's badge.

She just shrugged helplessly. "I only know what I saw, sir. I could be wrong; I'm not perfect. I just thought it would be irresponsible of me not to bring what I spotted to your attention."

"You did well, Miss Riddle." Harry's jaw fell open when Dippet addressed the girl, and his eyes were now drinking in every inch of her form.

This was Emily Riddle; it had to be.

The timeline checked out perfectly. She'd attended Hogwarts at the time the chamber had been opened. This was a Slytherin prefect with her surname. It could be nobody else.

But that meant…

Oh… FUCK!

Emily Riddle was a Parselmouth.

She had been at Hogwarts at the same time that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, and Harry frankly doubted Hagrid was capable of such things as he watched the proceedings unfold.

Which meant one of two things.

Harry's secret tutor had either made a royal mistake and there was either another Parselmouth at Hogwarts at that time, or one really didn't need the ability to enter the Chamber of Secrets, which Harry doubted.

Or, his mysterious penpal had been the Heir of Slytherin and had gotten away with it.

He instinctively knew the latter was true.

She was a genius. He knew that very well from first-hand experience. He had no doubts at all she could have gotten away with it, especially considering she seemed to have Dippet eating desperately out of the palm of her hand.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

* * *

_**March 7, 1993**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:25 AM**_

_**The Hidden Horrors of the Hogwarts Headmaster and the Blatant Abuses of Power He Doesn't Want You To Know About!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

_A number of days ago, I had the pleasure to sit down and interview a remarkable young man. A man who has achieved much in his young life. Somebody who has succeeded in spite of the odds never seeming to be in his favour. This conversation shed some rather disturbing light on two rather esteemed members of our society, but it took me a few days to comprehend exactly what I'd heard._

_But now, we are here._

_On the final day of February, I sat down with Harry Potter. You might recognize the surname, after all, it is one of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses that help govern our nation. If you are less politically-inclined, you might also recognize it as the surname of one Charlus Potter, otherwise known as the Boy-Who-Lived. This interview was one I have been wanting to conduct for some time. There are, after all, numerous questions surrounding Harry Potter._

_Like, for instance, why many in our world never heard his name until he was eleven-years-old — when he turned up at Hogwarts and shattered the Potter tradition by joining the ranks of Slytherin House._

_The answer to this question was rather shocking._

"_It's really quite confusing," Harry told me, looking particularly downcast at the choice of topic. "I never remember being sent to my aunt and uncle's. I know it was right after She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked my family. I spoke to my father about it a couple of months into my first year, and he said he couldn't handle the pressure of raising me alongside the Boy-Who-Lived."_

_I, for one, found that justification to be odd._

_James Potter, esteemed Senior Auror, generous philanthropist, and paragon of Gryffindor House unable to deal with the stress of raising two sons? _

_Interesting indeed._

_Yet my dear readers, the plot thickens._

_My next question, naturally, was to ask young Harry what he thought of the arrangement. The look on his face said it all, but I won't make you take my word for it. Instead, you can take young Harry's._

"_I don't know why he did it, but it wasn't a good home to grow up in. My aunt and uncle passed away pretty recently. I can honestly say that I don't feel good about that, but when I heard the news a small part of me was relieved I'll never have to go back."_

_When gently prodded further, Harry told me, in bits and pieces, of some of the atrocities that were committed in that home. _

_This boy, the heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House, was forced to slave away like a house elf for his muggle relatives. And if he performed tasks with anything less than house-elf-esque efficiency, he was punished very harshly._

_Physically punished, on a number of occasions._

_But there's more._

_As if it wasn't bad enough that the Potter Heir was raised in an abusive muggle home, it gets even worse. He told this fact to Lord Potter, who promised his son and heir vehemently he would never return._

_Until another piece entered the equation._

"_It was all going well until Headmaster Dumbledore got involved," Harry told me carefully. "My father had promised to never send me back. He looked upset that I even thought it was a possibility. At the end of the year, I was called to Dumbledore's office, and I was told I was returning there. I had no say in the matter._

"_I tried to argue. I tried to tell him what they'd done, but he wouldn't listen. He said it was necessary. There are — or were, I'm not sure — powerful wards on the home that I never knew existed. He said the wards were forged straight from the power of my mother's sacrifice, whatever that means."_

_This was quite vague, so I decided to take the wording to several experts._

_All the Curse Breakers I asked seemed to come to the same conclusion._

_Albus Dumbledore could not possibly be speaking of anything aside from blood wards._

_As we all know, blood magic of any kind is extremely illegal. It has been for more than two centuries. _

_What is also illegal, is the mishandling of an heir. The lord of a house is obligated to ensure the heir's safety to the best of their ability, something James Potter has failed to do. And if Albus Dumbledore played a role in this, he too may be guilty as a third party — in addition to his possible tampering in highly-illegal branches of magic._

The article continued from there, but Harry had read enough.

It was exactly what he'd needed it to be, and he could feel Dumbledore's intense stare on the back of his head.

He did not meet it.

The bastard didn't deserve any more of his attention.

Since that day out of Hogwarts, visiting both Diagon Alley and Black Manor, Harry's mind had been restless as it milled over a great number of things.

One of them was the possibility that Emily Riddle had been the Heir of Slytherin.

He was going down that rabbit hole once more, searching for information on the one-time Head Girl who seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.

He had also stopped writing to her.

If she had been opening the chamber in her time, Harry couldn't trust her.

Not when it meant that she, or at least somebody associated with her, had been responsible for the disappearance of his best friend.

He also didn't fail to notice the obvious coincidence that Emily Riddle, his top suspect for the title of Heir of Slytherin started writing to him the summer before the Chamber of Secrets had apparently been opened once again.

That had been his primary focus over much of the past week, but another thought filled him with just as much dread.

This article.

It was a carefully calculated strike, one that would hopefully remove Dumbledore from his position of power long enough for Harry to do some proper investigating without the old man's eyes fixed constantly upon him.

On the other hand, it meant that now, everybody who was anybody in Magical Britain knew facts about him that he'd originally planned to never share.

He hated it more than anything, but some sacrifices did, unfortunately, have to be made.

As Dumbledore might have put it — it was for the greater good.

* * *

_**March 12, 1993**_

_**The Grounds of Hogwarts **_

_**9:00 PM**_

Sneaking out of Hogwarts during a heavily enforced lockdown had been… surprisingly easy, to be honest.

The castle was so vast that the professors and Aurors couldn't possibly cover everywhere at once. That mixed with his silenced shoes, stealth ring and overall proficiency in sneaking around meant that Harry made his way out to the Hogwarts gates quite easily.

Where he promptly met up with a well-dressed and extremely smug-looking Lucius Malfoy.

"Lord Malfoy."

"Heir Potter, such a pleasure to see you."

"You seem to be in a good mood, sir."

Lucius chuckled as they began to stride purposefully in the direction of Hagrid's hut. "Never better, my dear boy. Never better."

* * *

_**Earlier that morning, in the Great Hall…**_

_Heir Potter,_

_Last night, the Hogwarts Board of Governors met and I presented the evidence you put forth to the Daily Prophet, as well as the memory you sent to me regarding Dumbledore's mishandling of the Rubeus Hagrid situation. It has been common knowledge for years that Dumbledore acquired him his position at the school, but now we know he did so despite his involvement in this disastrous Heir of Slytherin debacle. Funnily enough, any records pertaining to that particular school year have been sealed and hidden away, so this fact could not possibly have been known until now._

_Of course, this evidence would be a bit murky in a court of law, but it suits our purposes just fine._

_The board voted unanimously to remove Dumbledore from his position of power, and I will arrive at Hogwarts tonight to inform him of the board's decision._

_Seeing as this was all your rather splendid idea, I thought you may wish to be there to see it._

_If you would like to meet me at the front gates at nine o'clock tonight, I can assure you not only that you will be unpunished for breaking curfew, but also that you shall see your dominos fall._

_It is always rather satisfying to bear witness to, from one Slytherin to another._

_Regards,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy_

* * *

_**Back in the present...**_

"Funny coincidence, that," Harry said, fighting the shit-eating grin that was doing its best to make itself seen. "I'm doing quite well tonight, myself."

Lucius's lips twitched as they came to stand outside of Hagrid's front door. "Naturally."

All sounds from inside the building ceased as soon as Lucius had knocked. About ten seconds later, the door swung gently open, revealing the rather stony countenance of Albus Dumbledore.

"Good evening, Dumbledore," Lucius said silkily. "I believe I have something you might be interested in. It is actually rather urgent business. May I come in?"

Dumbledore nodded and Lucius stepped across the threshold. Harry made to follow, but he found the Chief Warlock impeding his path. "What are you doing out so late, Harry? Curfew has been in effect for some time now. These are not the times for shameless rule floundering, I am afraid. Please return to your common room immediately. I shall instruct Professor Snape to have a more formal word with you tomorrow."

Harry glanced towards Lucius, asking a silent question that the man affirmatively answered with a nod. "Respectfully, Chief Warlock, you don't have the authority to say something like that."

The air seemed to drain from the hut when Harry said that. All were deadly still except for Hagrid, who reared as if he'd been struck. "'ang on!" he protested. "He's the ruddy 'eadmaster, Potter! Whatcha mean he ain't got no author-"

"I think you will find, Mr. Hagrid," Lucius interjected smoothly, "that Albus Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts no longer."

With a flourish, Lord Malfoy removed a long roll of parchment from his robes and laid it down on the kitchen table.

"An official notice of dismissal from the Hogwarts Board of Governors. I think you will find that all twelve signatures have been given."

Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling. "An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?" he roared.

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid," Lord Malfoy drawled. "I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won't like it at all."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. "Take him away, an' the muggleborns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," said Dumbledore sharply.

"You're making a mistake, Malfoy." Harry had barely noticed the other man in the room.

It was Barty Crouch Sr. — the Minister for Magic.

"If Dumbledore is no longer in this castle, the investigation loses a major asset. One that it frankly can't afford to lose."

"With respect, Minister Crouch, the investigation will have to manage. The board's decision is unanimous, and it will not be rescinded."

Hagrid looked as if he would argue again. Crouch did as well, for that matter.

"Enough."

Dumbledore's voice cut across both of them, and both men fell silent. For his part, Dumbledore himself was staring pensively into Lucius's cold grey eyes with an expression that suggested he was completely unfazed by the events unfolding before him.

"If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside."

"No!" growled Hagrid.

Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off of Lucius Malfoy's cold grey ones.

"However," the Chief Warlock continued, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, "you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore's eyes flickered toward the corner. Those words were far too meaningful, and he doubted very much that Dumbledore was speaking to him. He also didn't fail to notice the two extra teacups on the table, and he suddenly put the dots together.

Granger and Charlus were almost definitely hidden in that corner, likely under his brother's invisibility cloak.

"Admirable sentiments," said Malfoy, bowing. "We shall all miss your — er — highly individual way of running things, Dumbledore, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any — ah — killins."

He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out. Crouch, fiddling with his uniform moustache, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, "If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That'd lead 'em right! That's all I'm sayin'."

Harry knew at once that both Charlus and Granger would be taking that cue.

He wanted to do likewise.

He wanted to so badly, but knew he couldn't.

Any time he had allowed his natural curiosity to overtake him, he'd been led into traps and situations he should have never found himself in.

He had won this night already. It was best not to press his advantage.

There were other avenues he could walk down that would all lead him to the same end goal.

Unmasking the Heir of Slytherin.

A goal that was now less complex with Dumbledore out of the castle.

It would be one less set of eyes watching over him every passing moment of the day.

Now, the true hunt could begin.

* * *

**Author's Endnote**

**As you can see, the pace is picking up, and this event happened about two months earlier than it did in canon due to Harry's intervention. It also sets up other, coming events that I can't quite say yet.**

**Let's just say this isn't going to play out the way it did in the novels, even if this bit might have looked similar.**

**In other news, the next audiobook chapter is up on YouTube, as well as the first chapter of my new story. Those audio chapters will be recorded, edited, and posted at the same time with the ones on site. Support on the YouTube channel, the AoC audiobook, and the new story would mean the world to me.**

**Happy Hanukkah to all who celebrate it!**

**Stay safe and happy reading!**

**Cheers,**

**Ace**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 19th, 2020. Or you can read it right now by joining my Discord server. The next one is available for all Discord members, and the next four are up for my Patrons.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and Discodancepant for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	46. SS Ch 28: Mounting Tension

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Athena Hope, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**

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**I won't do this in caps and whatnot, but for those interested, I will be releasing a Christmas one-shot in the next few days. It is very different to my usual style, so support and especially feedback on it would be very much appreciated when it releases. **

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos**

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 28: Mounting Tension**

* * *

_**March 12, 1993**_

_**Hagrid's Hut**_

_**9:23 PM**_

It spoke volumes to the magnitude of the moment that the three wizards and half-giant seemed to forget all about Harry as they exited the hut. More than likely, Malfoy and Dumbledore both remembered, but simply said nothing for very different reasons. Lord Malfoy most likely was not overly bothered how Harry spent his time. He seemed to enjoy the youth's cunning and penchant for causing beneficial chaos, so he probably felt no inclination to stop him from doing just that.

Dumbledore probably wanted to say something very much, but Harry wondered if the old man had seen his eyes dart to the corner and then to the table, where the two spare cups still sat guiltily on display — personifying every careless child caught with their hand halfway in the cookie jar. It was likely that Dumbledore didn't want to draw attention to Harry for fear that, in retaliation, Harry might draw attention to Charlus and Granger. Without either of them truly realizing it, Harry suspected they'd come to a sort of voiceless accord. A stalemate, one could say.

Frigid winter air tore through the otherwise scorching hut as the long-time Hogwarts Headmaster was led from the room. It seemed to signify the break in normality that was the castle's new state of being. Even through the chaos of the past two years, the one constant had been Dumbledore. The defeater of Grindelwald had served as a beacon of hope for most, even whilst he sat and did little in his ivory tower, lording over the lands he cherished but unable to do anything against the shadowy assailants who sought to cast them into ruin.

Harry knew that removing Dumbledore was exceedingly dangerous. It was the very definition of high risk, high reward play in a high-stakes game of chess.

Or perhaps Russian roulette would be more apt.

Dumbledore should have been their best weapon in apprehending the Heir of Slytherin. Harry had wanted to believe that for some time, mostly while he had tried in vain to stay out of the year's drama. In his estimation, Dumbledore had proven himself incapable of solving the mystery. Particularly when Harry learned this wasn't the first time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Dumbledore had not just failed once — he had failed twice.

Unfortunately, whilst Dumbledore was at Hogwarts, it was next to impossible for Harry to pursue his personal investigations. This hadn't been a problem for most of the year, as Harry truly wanted nothing to do with any of the chaos. Though that had all changed when Daphne had vanished and the Heir of Slytherin had, wittingly or not, made things deeply personal and stoked an unquenchable fire of hatred and vengeance inside of Harry.

In some ways, he thought with no small bit of irony, it felt much like the unearthly fire Dumbledore had conjured back in December during the one and only meeting of the Hogwarts Duelling Club.

Now that he was gone, things were going to get much more dangerous.

Especially if it was indeed Emily Riddle behind the events. She was a genius, after all. With Dumbledore out of the way, she was likely the most intelligent person in or operating within the castle by a wide margin. To Harry, this meant the chances were certainly high that the Heir might become more aggressive now.

This was both good and bad.

It was good because so long as they loomed hidden behind a veil of what had thus far proven to be impenetrable shadows, Harry suspected dragging them out into the ever-judging pools of light was going to be far more difficult. If they became more aggressive in their quest to achieve… whatever their end goal was, Harry was at least mildly more confident that he would be able to unmask them.

The problem with a more aggressive Heir of Slytherin was that it also meant it would be a much more dangerous Heir of Slytherin.

But it was a risk Harry had to take.

With Dumbledore out of the castle and the Heir of Slytherin more likely to step out of the shadows, he had a chance.

He would still have to avoid Gilderoy Lockhart, which was going to pose its own myriad of problems. Still, he thought the honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League far more preferable to the defeater of Grindelwald.

All of these thoughts flashed through Harry's mind in quick succession over a mere second.

There was a moment during which he contemplated exposing Charlus and Hermione. Just firing Stunners indiscriminately into the corner until they found their mark, at which point he would drag their bodies up to the castle and reveal them to whoever would now be serving as Interim Headmaster or Headmistress. He would tentatively wager Professor McGonagall, but Merlin only knew. The magical world wasn't exactly held in high esteem when evaluated from a logical perspective. It was about as short on logic and common sense as Dumbledore was on fashion sense.

Honestly, the robes that man wore.

In the end, he decided not to reveal his brother and his brother's friend. Not because he didn't want to, or because he felt any compassion for the idiot who seemed to stab him in the back any chance he got, but for Harry's own gain.

If nothing else, Charlus would most definitely follow Hagrid's cryptic advice.

At which point, Harry would merely need to get whatever he'd learned out of him, or to glean it somehow.

He already had a half-formed idea taking shape in his mind, and anything even similar to it was likely going to be far easier than going on a wild goose chase that would lead him Merlin only knew where.

He would conduct his own investigation while simultaneously swiping every bit of knowledge Charlus gained during his own.

It would be far easier than the alternative.

After all, even with Dumbledore's lack of style, he could dress far better than Charlus could keep a secret.

* * *

Charlus threw off the cloak as soon as he was sure Harry had left and wasn't coming back. To be fair, he wasn't even entirely sure Harry hadn't known they were there. His eyes had lingered on them for a period of time that felt too long to be natural, but so long as they weren't caught red-handed, his Slytherin twin had no proof of their supposed wrongdoings.

"Merlin," muttered Charlus, still very much in awe-struck disbelief and abject horror at the events he had just watched unfold. "What… Dumbledore… no! How could Harry help Malfoy do that!?"

He lashed out in his anger, kicking a massive chair and sending it toppling to the floor. Fang — Hagrid's enormous, lovable boarhound — immediately switched from sorrowful whining to sharp, startled barks.

"Shh," hissed Hermione, rushing over to comfort the dog as she glared at Charlus. "Watch what you're doing! Losing your temper won't do us any good."

"Well what else are we supposed to do?" Charlus yelled loudly. "Dumbledore's gone, Hermione! They just took the greatest wizard in the world out of the castle! He was the best chance we had and now he's gone. What the hell are we going to do?"

"Well for one thing," Hermione started, "we have a very specific set of instructions to follow if we want to learn something new about this whole mess."

Charlus blinked. "Huh?"

Hermione threw her hands up in the air as she rolled her eyes harder than Charlus had ever seen her do before. "Were you not listening when Hagrid gave the least subtle hint I've ever heard?"

Charlus blushed crimson. "I… er… was a bit distracted by the whole mess with Dumbledore."

"Follow the spiders," Hermione reminded him. "He said if anybody wanted to find anything out, all they would have to do is follow the spiders."

"Well, let's go then," said Charlus, immediately reaching for the cloak before Hermione swatted his hand in obvious annoyance.

"Not now," she hissed. "It's the dead of night. It would be a miracle if we could even find any spiders. We also need to look for patterns. Just because they go one direction one night doesn't mean that they will always go in that direction."

Charlus gritted his teeth. "Or we could just risk it and try a different direction another night. What's the worst that's going to happen? They're spiders, I doubt they're going to lead us into some sort of death trap."

"I think you're forgetting who's telling us to follow them. I love Hagrid, but his idea of safe isn't exactly… normal, is it?"

Charlus straightened at once. "Hagrid would never—"

"I'm not saying Hagrid would ever want us to get hurt. But… well, he doesn't really think about dangerous things the same way we do. I mean, last year, he was raising a dragon in a wooden hut."

That effectively silenced Charlus.

"Fine," he said, "but we need to act fast. Harry getting rid of Dumbledore just makes me wonder even more whether or not he's the Heir of Slytherin. Or whether he's working for the Heir."

Hermione wanted to deny it very badly. The last thing she wanted to do was accept that any twelve-year-old boy could do something so awful. The fact remained that this was also the same twelve-year-old boy who'd led Charlus down the road of learning horrible magic that had befuddled his brain, so she held her tongue.

"I agree," she said. "We should keep an eye on him the best we can. We have the cloak. When we're not in class, we could keep an eye on him with that, at least when he isn't in the Slytherin common room. Maybe carry the cloak at all times. If you see him wandering the halls randomly, throw it on and follow him. It's not perfect, but it's the best we can do."

Charlus nodded resolutely.

They would get to the bottom of Harry, the spiders, and the Chamber of Secrets. He would stop at nothing to salvage Hagrid's and Dumbledore's reputations and make sure the school was safe.

* * *

_**Later that night, at Potter Manor…**_

The Hogwarts fiasco had been an absolute nightmare for the Aurors, and James Potter was no exception. If anything, he had spent more time than most investigating the situation, for he had a vested interest in the form of his two sons — both of whom were at least mild suspects in the eyes of some.

On this lonely, chilly night in the middle of March, James sat on the floor of his living room, frantically flipping through old Hogwarts records to no avail. He became distracted from his efforts when all vision was stripped from him by the supernova of light that appeared not even ten feet away from him. He winced as he shielded his eyes and waited for the light to recede. When it did, he blinked bemusedly, having expected just about anything but what, or rather who, now stood in front of him.

"Albus?"

"Good evening, James," Dumbledore said heavily, looking very tired and old as he stroked the brilliant plumage of the ethereal bird that rested comfortably atop his shoulder. "I do apologize for my rudeness in invading your home at such an unlawful hour of the night. I shall of course leave if you wish, but there are rather urgent developments that have taken place tonight at Hogwarts that I think you would be quite interested in. I also would not be adverse to sanctuary for the night, if you would be so kind."

"Sanctuary?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Yes, indeed. I shall not be permitted to sleep in my old quarters for some time, now that I am no longer the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Fawkes let out a high, sad cry just as James nearly keeled over from the shock. "WHAT!?" he shouted, looking as though he couldn't decide whether he wanted to faint, or spend more time shouting.

"Yes, indeed. I fear that the situation at hand is drawing near to what could potentially be a most deadly crescendo."

"But if you're not there—"

"Oh, I worry very little about that. Far more worrying to me than my removal are the circumstances that led to it. I feel as though I may actually be more useful to this most noble cause while not presiding over the school, I simply worry for the implications within the school whilst I am gone."

"What happened?"

"Your son, in large part." Despite the seriousness of the moment, Dumbledore actually looked just as impressed and amused as he did grave. "I did wonder as to the nature of his game when the _Daily Prophet _released its most recent bit of gossip. I had hoped it was merely to provide himself a safety net for the coming holidays, but I fear that in actuality, it was a carefully calculated strike that perfectly found its mark in the end."

"Merlin," moaned James, "how could he—"

"Very easily. If it was truly Harry acting of his own accord, I cannot truthfully say I blame him. I stand by some of the actions he despises me for, though others were among the worst mistakes I have ever made. From his own set of eyes, however, I can quite easily see why he would want me removed from the castle." Dumbledore chuckled. "It was actually done quite masterfully, which does make me wonder whether or not there is more afoot."

"Don't tell me you think he's the Heir," James said tiredly.

"I have never once believed Harry to be the Heir of Slytherin," Dumbledore said calmly. "It was a lead that needed investigating due to the circumstances that have transpired, but I never truly believed it. If Harry is involved, I see him not as the puppet master, but as one of her puppets, caught up in a dangerous display of destruction and deceptions."

"You think he's being manipulated?"

"I see two potential avenues," Dumbledore admitted. "The first is that Harry is, in one way or another, being used by the Heir of Slytherin. Whether or not he is being used to actually open the Chamber of Secrets, or whether he has been used merely as a diversion and now as a weapon against me, I am not certain."

James seemed to sag in his chair, though he did not dare allow himself to completely believe Dumbledore's theory. "The other option?"

"Harry is not and has never been at all connected to the Heir of Slytherin and is instead merely caught in their crosshairs. The Heir attacked Miss Greengrass not only to cause political unrest, but to further draw Harry into the fray. If they know him well enough, they might have even assumed he would push for my removal. Both out of admittedly well-earned spite, and because he might view me as an impediment to his own investigations."

"So he might be trying to go after the Heir?"

"It is possible. Truly, this whole mystery has me quite baffled. I have little doubt who is behind it, but whom she uses, I have not the foggiest of ideas."

"But you're going to try and find out?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I have an ominous feeling, James. An ominous feeling that is telling me the identity of Lady Voldemort's puppet shall only be revealed in due time." James's eyes widened at the sentiment pertaining to Voldemort, but the former Hogwarts Headmaster pushed forward. "I think that in order to reach the crux of the problem, we must first identify the problem itself."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we must discover what exactly is attacking students and causing them to vanish in the middle of the night."

"Do you not think it's just the Heir stunning them and dragging them off?"

"Not at all. This is not the first time I have seen the fabled Chamber of Secrets opened. The last time, students turned up petrified. I have no doubt that whatever attacked students fifty years ago is loose once more. This time, the Heir is simply hiding the bodies. Likely in the Chamber of Secrets itself." James let out a gasp, and Dumbledore nodded gravely. "It is my belief that once Slytherin's monster is identified, we may then make inroads in solving this mystery once and for all."

"And how are you going to track down this monster?"

"Oh, I have my ideas," said Dumbledore. "Through some travelling, I suspect. I do have one centric idea that I believe is correct, but I must investigate that idea further. The British Isles are, I am afraid, not the place to do so. Any mention of what I shall be searching for was wiped away centuries ago. To find what I am pursuing, I must travel to the most ancient of places. The places in which magic as we know of it was born. The places where chaos was first controlled."

James felt that there was a great deal of significance in what Dumbledore had just said. Significance that had somehow gone so far over his head, he had barely even noticed.

"First," the man said with a yawn, "I must write a letter, and then I must sleep. Assuming you are so kind, I shall do so here."

"Of course," said James. "Do you know where to find the bedrooms?"

"Oh, I'm sure I will manage. Goodnight, James, and I thank you very much for your most gracious hospitality."

"Goodnight, Albus," said James, wondering just how bad this nightmare would get before it was finally resolved.

He just hoped he still had two sons by the end of it.

* * *

_**March 13, 1993**_

_**The Great Hall**_

_**8:21 AM**_

_**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE FORCEFULLY REMOVED FROM HIS POSITION AS HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS DUE TO THE RECENT AND ATROCIOUS ACCUSATIONS LEVELLED AGAINST HIM! HOGWARTS GAMEKEEPER SENT TO AZKABAN PRISON!**_

_**By Rita Skeeter**_

"Dear Merlin, that woman can write a headline," Blaise said dryly, glancing meaningfully from Harry to the paper. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, old chap?"

"Not here," hissed Harry. "Tonight." Blaise nodded, seeming to understand Harry's meaning instantly.

When Tracey saw the headline, she actually smiled at Harry, though he noticed even without using his Natural Legilimency how tense and nervous she was. Charlotte looked more curious than anything, whereas her friends Ginny and Laine seemed none too bothered — likely because they weren't aware of the significance of everything going on.

One figure that did watch his reaction quite intently was Ares, and Harry knew he would be having words with her on the way out. He was also rather sure she had heard what he had said to Blaise.

As Harry ate the rest of his meal, the other half of the infamous Potter twins sat tensely at the Gryffindor table, having to forcefully resist the urge to tear into one of the letters he'd received. One was less sensitive, though that was a very relative term. He had risked opening it anyway, Gryffindor as he was.

He couldn't risk opening the more sensitive of the two envelopes, however, for he was being watched far too closely. That had become the norm ever since he had unintentionally revealed himself as a Parselmouth.

But Merlin, did he want to rip into that letter… it likely held so many truths. For all he knew, it could hold all the answers he needed.

The owner of that tall, loopy handwriting was, after all, the greatest wizard alive.

* * *

Harry wasn't at all surprised when Ares Black followed him from the Great Hall. He had actually known it to be coming, and simply marched towards the nearest abandoned classroom without a backwards glance, making haste so as not to be spotted by the Aurors.

Once he had entered and warded the room, Harry turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "I want in on your meeting tonight," she said bluntly.

That… was complicated and potentially problematic.

Harry liked Ares, or at least what he'd seen of her so far. She was often cold and aloof, and she kept her emotions very closely controlled. Even more so than Blaise, who at least occasionally let his facade down around his friends. He supposed that being the daughter of Bellatrix Black, it wasn't too shocking. Ares did remind him vividly of Bellatrix, just quieter.

The problem was that he didn't entirely trust her. He had no reason for not trusting her, he just didn't trust anybody who wasn't in his close, inner circle of friends. Ginny had been loosely floating around him since October and he didn't even trust her. Certainly not Laine Slater, whom he trusted even less.

Ares had proven to be a great help in unmasking the Heir of Slytherin, but it was still a rather large leap of faith on her part to ask this of him.

Perhaps not from her perspective, but she wasn't aware of the Speaker's Den, among other things.

"I know you might not trust me," she said as though reading his thoughts, "but you know I can help you. I've helped you already, and if you want me to keep helping you, I need to stay informed. That's the only way this is going to work. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on."

"My problem is that I think you're more concerned with helping yourself."

"That's fair, but we both want the same thing, so it isn't overly relevant. You want the Heir's head on a stick because they attacked one of your best friends and it seems like they at least tried to frame you earlier in the year. I want the Heir because of the Greengrass attack as well. They lost all respect from me when they attacked one of the most important families in our country.

"It's more than that though," she continued. "I know you and Draco didn't get along, but he was my only friend for years. He had his less than flattering moments, but I really do care for him more than anybody else. If it wasn't for this Heir of Slytherin, he might still be at Hogwarts. It looked really bad, him making a scene at the Greengrass's ball and then their heiress going missing. Not good publicity at all, and he could easily be blamed for the attack on the Weasley twins for the same reasons you could have been.

"It was part of the reason why my Uncle Lucius pulled him from the school. The Heir of Slytherin cost me a friend, too. At least, they cost me a friend for ten months out of the year. I know it's not as horrible as what's happened to you, but I am very protective of my friends. I don't have many of them, and that's ignoring the whole bit about him being family.

"I hate that I'm telling you any of this, but I need to be in on this, Harry. I need you to understand that. I want the Heir almost as badly as you do, but I can't help if I'm left in the dark, and I somehow have a feeling nothing you say tonight will be leaving that meeting."

Harry wanted so badly to say no.

He still didn't quite trust her, but Merlin damn his sympathy and her relatability.

He contemplated crushing the emotion with Occlumency for all of three seconds before it was cast to the side as a horrible idea. Whether Emily was the Heir of Slytherin or not, he trusted her views on magic, which confused him greatly.

If she had been the Heir of Slytherin, why didn't she encourage him to learn the Dark Arts in the same way that Charlus had? She had even done the opposite. Gently but firmly guiding him away from any potential land mines he might stumble across.

It confused him greatly and his trust for her was shattered completely. As made clear by the fact he hadn't written in their shared journal since he'd been made aware of the details pertaining to Hagrid's expulsion and the jarring revelations that had preceded it.

But he still trusted her judgement on all things magic.

She might be a monster, but everything he had diligently researched had shown she had always been completely honest with him in regards to magic. Even her Occlumency exercises had been as advertised.

She had warned him against suppressing positive emotions just as much as she had warned him against suppressing negative ones. It was a warning he was going to follow, and thus he allowed the sympathy he felt for Ares to wash over him and he could do little more than sigh and nod his agreement.

* * *

_**That night, on the fourth floor…**_

Charlus felt beaten and battered by the time he left Lockhart's office late that night, almost exactly twenty-four hours after Dumbledore had been driven out of the school by his snake of a brother and the man whom he was sure had once been a Death Eater — Lucius Malfoy.

Lockhart had urgently requested his presence via one of the two letters he'd received earlier that very day.

He had started questioning Charlus about anything he might know of Dumbledore's expulsion from the castle the moment the young Gryffindor had walked through his door. Charlus had very defeatedly confessed to having witnessed the scene of Dumbledore's forced exit, though he did leave out the part about his invisibility cloak.

His father had always been very insistent he keep that as secret as possible.

He'd told Ron and Hermione, but they were his best friends and notable exceptions.

He could tell Lockhart hadn't believed the bit about him and Hermione hiding under Hagrid's table, but he hadn't pressed him for too much information.

Lockhart had swiftly decided their training in defensive magic needed to be taken to a new level. Charlus hadn't even known that was possible, but by Merlin it was.

They would now be working on spell deflection; an extremely advanced ability that required at least the beginnings of non-verbal magic capabilities — as well as an absurd amount of precision. Not to mention the fact you needed to be able to at least vaguely identify the spell coming towards you, unless you wanted to just run the risk of trying to overpower it.

Needless to say, Charlus had not been at all successful.

He had been battered by the constant barrages of spells hurled his way by his sadistic professor, but he hadn't broken, quit, nor given up. In vain, perhaps, but he had put one-hundred percent effort into each and every attempt until finally, Lockhart had called it off, sending Charlus back to his common room, impressing upon him to practice the non-verbal bit on his own whenever he was able.

Limping, Charlus made his way down the corridor two floors above the man's office, reflecting on the other bit of mail he had received that morning. One he hadn't been able to open until he'd made the excuse to retreat to his dormitory to "grab his textbook".

* * *

_**Earlier that day, in Gryffindor Tower…**_

_Dear Charlus,_

_I am truly sorry I could not say a proper goodbye to you, but as I know you saw, I was rather rushed during my untimely exit from the school that I love so very much._

_I would like to write to you not only to update you as to the goings-on outside the castle, but as well as what I believe might just be the goings-on inside the castle._

_Firstly, any information you glean should be sent to me immediately. I cannot stress this enough. I will be travelling to research a few of my own suspicions pertaining to horrible things that should never be researched at all. I am unsure when the next time I may have time to write to you will be, but I have little doubt it will be a significant period of time from now. I will, however, read anything you send me. I have no doubt an owl will be able to find me, though doing so may serve as a time-consuming challenge for the poor bird in question. _

_Any information you can provide me will aid greatly in the ending of this mess, so all of it would be immensely appreciated._

_I like to think of myself as a giving man, however, so I shall impart some wisdom onto you in return for asking for any of it you yourself might soon be able to provide me._

_I implore you to watch your twin very closely, but to do so with the utmost caution. _

_It is imperative he does not discover you doing this. I am unsure whether he is an extremely determined and dangerous opponent of the Heir of Slytherin, or whether he is in some way connected to our shadowy assailant. If it is the latter, I do not think him directly responsible, but merely an agent of whoever might be behind this. If that is the case, you and your investigations must not be discovered. Without knowing how the Heir is making students disappear, I am unsure whether or not your cloak would serve as any defence against them. I do not wish to find out, so I stress again that you must not be seen, but that keeping an eye on your twin may turn out to be essential in assuring a positive future._

_Speaking of your cloak, I would kindly ask you to keep it on your person at all times and to not be afraid to use it. If you must flee, then flee. There is no shame in doing what must be done to win the ultimate victory we seek. The only shame is in letting down your side by knowingly doing what is most directly responsible for their defeat._

_Heed my words, Charlus, and do keep the light at the end of the tunnel in mind. We are entering dark, perilous times, but I assure you the light will shine through by the end. Keep your head and your heart intact, and I know we will prevail. Simply heed my words here, and the ones I spoke in Hagrid's hut, for I know you were there looming. I only hope you took in the last-minute wisdom I tried my best to impart upon you._

_Stay safe and best wishes._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

_**Back in the present…**_

Charlus's jaw set as he marched towards Gryffindor Tower, hidden under his cloak just as he knew Professor Dumbledore would want.

They were going to get through this and come out on the right side in the end.

He just knew they would.

* * *

_**March 27, 1993**_

_**Knockturn Alley**_

_**8:53 PM**_

Diagon Alley was a beautiful place at night, even with the bitterly cold winds tearing through its centre that had not yet been driven off by the turning of the season. Its myriad of brightly coloured signs, vibrant displays, and lit windows stood out starkly against the otherwise velvety night. From a distance, they might have looked like a number of overgrown fireflies, while those closer to them would simply have been bathed in the light, which was so plentiful it might as well have been everywhere in the alley, and not dotted haphazardly around as it was.

Knockturn Alley, on the other hand, was an abyss of pure blackness.

None of the bright light from its sister alley seemed to make a dent in the ominous layer of impenetrable darkness that seemed to blanket the alley. If anything, it was akin to a black hole, drawing all nearby light towards its ultimate demise. Or, if the lights in Diagon were overgrown fireflies, then the darkness of Knockturn was the world's largest and most inescapable Venus flytrap.

It was so dark in the shadier of the two alleys that not even those who were intently watching would have noticed the lone figure creeping in the alleyway. He was much smaller than most of the figures who usually frequented the alley, and he wore a cloak that was purposefully too large, its hood cast his face into shadow, seeming to obscure it in the same way the endless blackness obscured the alley he stood in.

Sneaking out of Hogwarts had been more difficult than he had thought it might be.

The exception he had last used to escape the castle had been temporarily voided by the Wizengamot, which meant he needed to sneak out as opposed to merely walking out. That was made difficult when he realized Aurors seemed to know of the secret passages out of the castle. Harry wondered if his father had told them. It had taken some time, for he had not wanted to move until he was absolutely certain his plans would go off without a hitch.

With the aid of his memory, he eventually worked out whereabouts the Aurors would be at each time of the night. Deducing that had taken a frankly absurd amount of sneaking around using his ring and the serpentine portraits in the dungeons where possible. The problem was that nearly all of the portraits were on the dungeon floor, and even with their friends in other portraits above, it was no longer going to be a sufficient network of spies. Not if he wanted to unmask the Heir of Slytherin, which he in fact wanted above all things.

It had taken several weeks to work out when the Aurors would be in an appropriate position, but Harry had eventually worked it out and slipped out of the castle. He'd debated taking the floo from Hogsmeade, but he surely would have been sold out by Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks. Briefly, he had considered the Hog's Head, but Charlotte had informed him the bartender was inexplicably Albus Dumbledore's brother. How one brother had become arguably the greatest wizard since Merlin, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards whilst the other had settled as a mere bartender, Harry had no idea.

With his friends' input, he had eventually decided the Knight Bus was going to be his best option. He'd never ridden it before and by the time it arrived in the streets of Diagon Alley, he couldn't say he much enjoyed it. Flying and the Gringotts carts were one thing. Feeling as though you were going to die for every nanosecond of a ride on a triple-decker bus was another thing altogether.

Once in Diagon Alley, it had been all too easy to sneak into Knockturn Alley with his hood up. Nobody in there cared about age. The less pleasant occupants would not hold back if they wanted something from you, regardless of age, but the shopkeepers wouldn't deny anyone based on their age, either. As long as their customers had gold, the legality of their transactions mattered not.

Which was how Harry found himself in a Magical menagerie specializing in snakes. Surprisingly, snakes were not for sale in Diagon Alley. Likely as a result of the stigma that had formed around them, in large part due to Voldemort's reign of terror over Magical Britain.

Even if they were though, Harry still would have come here.

He wasn't seeking a serpentine familiar or anything of the like. He was seeking a larger number of snakes. All of them also had to be extremely intelligent and able to follow very specific orders and give very specific intel.

It was time to upgrade his spy network.

* * *

_**April 9, 1993**_

_**The Seventh Floor**_

_**10:32 PM**_

Charlus and Hermione slid easily from the Gryffindor common room under the invisibility cloak.

For the last number of weeks, they had spent most nights observing the patterns of the spiders and had decided, with no small bit of dread, that they did indeed consistently scuttle their way down and into the Forbidden Forest. Given the horror stories told about the Black Forest, neither of them were at all looking forward to the experience of entering it.

However, Charlus was resolute that they would follow the spiders, no matter where that led them. Hermione found herself resigned to the idea, and she had been given no choice but to reluctantly agree that it was important.

Charlus really did wish Ron was here, even in spite of his friend's intense phobia of spiders. His natural humour would have been very much appreciated at the moment, for Charlus was sure it would have been most effective in breaking the oppressive tension that blanketed the pair, seeming to bury them under its unbearable weight. Unfortunately, Molly and Arthur had decided Ron would not be returning to Hogwarts this year.

The two had tried to follow Harry, but it was nearly impossible. He also seemed to have a way to turn invisible, which Charlus couldn't decide if he was more incredulous or furious about. He also just knew the castle better than Charlus or Hermione likely ever would, and they eventually had to very reluctantly admit defeat. It wasn't often at all they saw him out in the corridors but when they did, he used one of — or a combination of — those advantages to be impossible to follow, even without knowing he was being tailed.

So with Harry out of the picture, they had but one avenue left in terms of their ongoing investigation.

Follow the spiders.

* * *

_**Minutes later, in the Slytherin common room…**_

Harry's night had been normal right up until the moment a snake who'd obviously slithered into the common room one of the last few times its entrance had been opened coiled around Harry's leg to get his attention.

With a hurried excuse to his friends, he discretely scooped the creature up and bolted for the bathrooms, locking and warding the door behind him.

"**What is it?" **he hissed.

"**The one you wished for us to watch has left his common room. Somebody we cannot see has, anyway, and we assume it to be him. He has been followed down to the first floor and the front doors opened and closed, though we saw no one leave."**

Harry shot to his feet at once.

This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

He'd thought when Dumbledore was out of the picture, aggressively investigating the Heir of Slytherin situation would have been much easier than it had been.

Whether the old codger had put him up to it or whether Charlus was just being shockingly pragmatic, Harry knew he was being tailed by his brother while under the cloak. Not because he ever caught him in the act. Every time he cast Homenum Revelio — a spell that had been an absolute nightmare to learn — it came up empty. Obviously, he was just choosing the wrong times to cast it. But he knew he was being followed because a few of the snakes had infiltrated the Gryffindor common room and had heard Charlus and Hermione discussing the fact.

They also knew they were planning to do something during an undisclosed night that would take up a considerable amount of time.

Tonight was clearly that night.

With his tails busy for the evening, it was time for Harry to truly investigate.

Priority number one — investigate the second-floor corridor near where Mrs. Norris had been found.

* * *

_**At the same moment, in an abandoned classroom…**_

The Slytherin common room's entrance had opened three times in the last twenty minutes. It had admitted three figures, all of whom had discreetly made for the same classroom in the dungeons. It was one that had not been in use for some time.

It was also the one Charlotte Weitts had almost been brutalized in, and it was the one in which Mulciber and Jugson — two of the three present figures — had been essentially tortured by Legilimency. Mulciber in particular had needed to spend several weeks at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

The two of them had just finished retelling the story of exactly what they remembered happening to the older student that stood before them. He was taller than either of them and had very pale skin and jet-black hair.

"I'm sorry for your suffering," the boy said, though he didn't particularly sound like he meant it. "I won't be needing your help again. It's clear the two of you can't deal with her."

"W-w-what are you going to do, then?" asked Jugson in a wavering voice.

The older boy's intense eyes darkened as his hand twitched towards his wand. "I'm going to do it myself. I should have just fired something worse than a Stunner when I tried to let you two resolve this whole thing. It won't matter soon, though. Weitts will get hers — both of them will."

* * *

_**Two hours later, on the second floor…**_

Harry had spent so long searching the second floor to no avail that he had almost been convinced his search would be fruitless.

That had been until he'd struck gold.

Following a gut instinct, Harry had decided to check the hidden passage behind the set of armour near the bathroom. The one Voldemort — while disguised as Hurst — had shown him on Halloween night of his first year.

What he found in the alcoves shook him to his core, though it might not have had any connection to the Heir of Slytherin.

A lone piece of parchment was lying face up.

But not just any piece of parchment.

It was a map, but it was unlike any map Harry had ever seen. It obviously showed the names of every single person residing in or around the castle.

This was priceless.

Not only would it help Harry discover things about the ancient castle he might never have otherwise, but it was also going to be instrumental in his one, true goal.

With this map in Harry's posession, the Heir of Slytherin stood no chance.

* * *

_**Hours later, on the grounds of Hogwarts...**_

Charlus was shaking like a leaf as he and Hermione crept as quietly across the Hogwarts grounds as they could, slowly and unsteadily ascending the sloping lawns leading up to the large, oak front doors. Charlus was shooting glances back towards the forest every now and again, wondering just where the Ford Anglia that had saved their lives was now.

Hermione had most certainly been right.

Hagrid's idea of finding out information was apparently achieved by walking into a colony of blood-thirsty spiders the size of elephants. They had been utterly helpless when the car had shown up, but the one, sole benefit of being utterly helpless was that your captors tended to be rather loose-lipped, at times. They had assumed nothing they said would ever leave where they held the teens captive.

It wasn't much, but at least Charlus and Hermione now knew that whatever monster loomed in the fabled Chamber of Secrets was one that the acromantula feared above all others.

It meant nothing to them and would likely be wholly unhelpful but if anybody could do anything with the information, it was Professor Dumbledore.

As exhausted as Charlus might have been, he had a letter to write before it was time for bed.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I know this chapter is much shorter than what you have all become accustomed to throughout the year, but this will probably be the norm until year 2's thirty-third chapter. Most of the setup and subplots are done, minus one that will be resolved in the next two chapters. That inevitably means the chapters in question don't need to be nearly as long, so until chapter thirty-three of year two, expect chapters of this length.**

**At that point, you will get two 20k+ word chapters back to back, and then one or two more to round off year 2.**

**Don't ask me how that works — it will make sense to you all soon enough.**

**In other news, the next chapter of the AoC audiobook is now up on YouTube and Spotify! The links can be found on my profile.**

**Also, remember — Christmas one-shot coming soon!**

**Happy Holidays, everyone!**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, December 26th, 2020. Or you can read it now by joining my Discord server, or read the next three by signing up on P*T*E*N.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors 1saaa, Ashabel, Asmodeus Stahl, CCCP. Discodancepant, Regress, Sesc and Shaqb4 for their corrections/contributions this week.**


	47. SS Ch 29: Two More Pieces Left to Fall

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.**

**Acknowledgement: Thank you as always to my editor Fezzik, as well as my other betas Luq707, Athena Hope, Yoshi89 and Raven0900 for their incredible work on this story.**

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**Check out the ANs at the end of this chapter for some special announcements, one of which in particular I think is very cool, and I think some of you may be interested in.**

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos **

**By ACI100**

**Year 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin**

**Chapter 29: Two More Pieces Left to Fall**

* * *

_**April 2, 1993**_

_**The Restricted Section**_

_**10:57 PM**_

Much of the Hogwarts library was currently dimly-lit. Large windows allowed copious amounts of light to flow into the vast room, casting a blend of light and shadow over the portion of the room closest to the windows in question. Even the deep recesses of the library — far enough away from the window for no sunlight to intrude upon them — were lit by the soft light of the torches that were present in so much of the immense, ancient castle.

At night, it was different, especially in the much smaller, far less travelled sectors of the library.

Curfew had been in effect for several hours, and the cavernous room was completely quiet and void of any light. The silvery, luminescent light of the moon — which was nearing the end of its monthly cycle — would have cast small pools of light in the room, but the windows were veiled by dark, heavy curtains. The soft glow of torches was non-existent, for they had been snuffed out with the arrival of curfew sometime earlier.

All was quiet and not a soul was present.

Until a bookshelf noiselessly slid forward and the floorspace it had occupied suddenly slid aside with it, allowing a small, dark figure to pull themselves up through a hidden trapdoor that had barely been used in a great many years.

Harry had thought his knowledge of the castle was expansive. He was fairly sure that, outside of the Weasley twins, their friend Lee Jordan, and perhaps a few other exceptions, he was the most knowledgeable person as to the many mysteries the castle seemed to guard with the protectiveness and fervour of an old woman hiding a secret recipe she had developed decades earlier. Perhaps some of the professors knew more of these secrets than him, too, but Harry couldn't be sure.

The point was that he knew a lot about the castle. Far more than most students ever knew, anyway.

This fact was very true, but it hadn't changed the truth of the last few days. During that time, he had been forced to accept that he didn't know quite as much about the ancient castle as he had believed. At least, he didn't know quite as many of its secrets as he'd thought. Far more of them had remained hidden than he could have ever imagined, though they now had been made known to him by the beauties of the Marauder's Map.

That's what the glorious piece of parchment left in the alcove on the second floor seemed to be called.

It had been lying face up when Harry had seen it, but he had immediately ascertained its use and hadn't hesitated for a second in swiping it. He had a strange feeling it had belonged to the Weasley twins, though he suspected they hadn't created it. It wasn't known where they were attacked, but that seemed as good a place as any. It actually made sense, from a strategic standpoint. An ambush right as they were exiting the alcove Harry had found the map in. The Heir of Slytherin might have simply never investigated the alcove and thereby never found the map.

There was a part of him that found this odd, particularly if the person behind this really was an Heir of Slytherin. Naturally, they should have been well-versed in the castle's many secrets, and they certainly shouldn't have overlooked such an obvious alcove.

After putting more thought into the matter, the oddity had only confirmed Harry's suspicions that Emily Riddle, being the Heir of Slytherin, was acting through another. She had told him via writing she wasn't in Britain and hadn't been in years, so there was a chance she had actually been honest and was simply manipulating another. She was so masterful with magic that Harry wondered whether or not she may even have been capable of acting in the same way Voldemort had last year.

Whomever she was using must not have seen the map, and they certainly would have had they investigated the passage. Nobody would leave that tool just lying there, ripe for the taking. It would have been utter madness to waste such a potentially useful object.

Ever since finding the map, Harry had spent a great deal of time studying it. So many passages were found and noted by its creators that Harry had never been aware of — he was sure there were even more that had eluded even the Marauders. Still, their knowledge of the castle was exceedingly impressive, and Harry could only assume they had been very near the end of their Hogwarts education by the time they had created it. Not only was the magic involved likely advanced to the point of being impossible for him to currently comprehend, but he couldn't see any other way they would have gained so much advanced knowledge about the castle. He had spent more time than any he knew investigating its vast halls, and the knowledge they had accumulated put his own to shame.

Hell, he had perhaps spent even more time exploring than the Weasley twins. They might have actually known very little about the castle. If they had this map, it wasn't exactly as though knowledge of their own was overly necessary.

When studying the map, he had noticed a secret passage leading into the heart of the Restricted Section. One that was particularly well-hidden and one he was fairly confident in saying likely hadn't been found nor used in some time. Judging by the excessive amounts of dust present in the dark passageway, he conjectured his earlier assumptions had been very much correct.

He had spent much of the year lamenting his failure to take advantage of the pass he had posessed during his first year granting him access to the Restricted Section. Especially now, while hunting down the Heir of Slytherin. There had been a brief time not long before finding the map when he had considered sneaking into the shadier section of the library, but he knew it was warded. He had a feeling those wards would probably alert Madam Pince and possibly others to his unwelcome presence. He had no idea how to remove or breach wards yet, so that was a problem. Even if he did, he assumed taking down the Hogwarts wards would be utterly impossible. Many said they were the very best in the country, if not the world.

Once he had seen the passage on the map, he had leapt on the opportunity, and this was how he found himself stepping up and out of the trapdoor, watching the bookshelf slide noiselessly back into place as he cast his eyes around the ominously dark and shady shelves that towered up all around him.

He needed two things.

Questionable and powerful magic that might help him in his crusade against the Heir of Slytherin, and some sort of spell that might help him learn more about the map's nature.

He still hadn't gotten it to wipe itself clean of the intricate display it showed. He was sure it could, for any with the capability to create such a thing would have doubtlessly understood the need for subtlety. There was probably a password or something. He needed a spell to help him devise exactly what that was, and any other potential facets of the map.

He would need every advantage he could get in whatever was to come, for he had a feeling the end of this deadly dance was drawing near.

When everything inevitably went to hell, he needed to be ready.

* * *

_**April 11, 1993**_

_**The Speaker's Den**_

_**9:24 PM**_

Harry stared with great concern as the snake that slithered its way into the Slytherin common room finished its report.

It had subtly drawn Harry's attention and been taken into the Den, at which point it relayed the messages from its brothers, many of whom had been tasked with tailing Charlus and Hermione in an effort to glean anything they might know that he didn't.

Thus far, his endeavours had been fruitless.

He did know that the same night he had found the Marauder's Map — which he still had yet to figure out the workings of — they had exited the Forbidden Forest visibly shaken. After his own brief stint in the forest near the end of his first year, Harry wasn't terribly surprised, though he did wonder intensely what they had been in there for. He considered it pure idiocy to willingly venture into those woods. Then again, his brother had never exactly been full of common sense. Granger was at least intelligent though, despite all of her other flaws. He would have thought she would have pointed out what was wrong with strolling casually into an area occupied by an unspecified number of quintessentially dangerous things.

She obviously hadn't, which just as obviously meant they felt they had needed to venture into the forest.

Why? He still didn't know.

His brother had chosen a very inconvenient time to suddenly sprout a brain. Harry found it quite annoying. He hadn't let anything slip as far as the snakes could tell, and they had tailed him everywhere they could. This meant that he was likely only speaking about sensitive matters in very out of the way places, or while protected by some fairly powerful privacy wards. The Muffliato spell was a likely candidate if Harry had to bet.

All of that might have sounded obvious, but Harry also hadn't forgotten how the idiot had blabbed about his entire Polyjuice plan while Myrtle listened into the whole thing. He wasn't exactly known for subtlety, and Harry was, quite frankly, annoyed he had chosen now of all times to start being subtle.

His brother just really had an innate talent for pissing Harry off, even when he wasn't trying to.

It was vaguely impressive, in an oddly warped and infuriating sort of way.

In the end, he could do little more than tell his snakes to keep searching. If nothing continued to turn up, he would have to look into alternative methods of prying Charlus's secrets from him.

* * *

_**April 16, 1993**_

_**An Abandoned Classroom**_

_**8:15 PM**_

A pale boy with dark hair leant back in his chair, looking over those who he viewed as being beneath him with cold, hard indifference, mixed with no small bit of defiance.

"You're… sure this isn't too far?" one of his associates asked. "If they ever find out what we're doing—"

"They won't," the head figure said from his chair, his snap of a voice cutting across one of his several accomplices with ruthless efficiency. "Leave that up to me, Jugson. I have it all under control." Marcus Jugson — Slytherin seventh year and Alex Jugson's older brother — shut his mouth in a hurry and nodded.

"This is… a lot," another pointed out.

"Sometimes," said the lead figure, a sort of twisted, sadistic smile adorning his regal-looking face, "extremism is needed to solve extremely irritating problems."

No one dared argue with him any further.

* * *

_**April 20, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons **_

_**9:36 PM**_

By the time Harry and Charlotte concluded their session that Tuesday evening, both of them were practically slumped against their desks. Charlotte due to the rigorous routine and mock duel Harry had subjected her to, and Harry from spending the last number of minutes trying to control and guide his Legilimency probe, something he was still struggling with.

Since their first lesson, Charlotte had come a long way in duelling. Her defence still wasn't quite up to par with her offence. She had long since mastered the Protego Shield, though spell deflection was still very much beyond her. Harry had a feeling she wouldn't be mastering that this year, and that it might be a project for her second year more so than her first. She also just seemed more predisposed to attacking, as her offensive instincts were far greater than her defensive ones.

But she was improving.

As was Harry in Legilimency. He could now partially guide a probe, though he could do so with zero subtlety and _very _questionable consistency. It turned out that being a Natural Legilimens didn't make controlling the ability any easier. Just that you could do it and had the potential to go further. He really should have gleaned that from Charlotte's troubles much earlier in the year. The problem with that thought was, despite remembering those troubles, it seemed like an age had passed since them. So much had happened since then.

"You might actually get through stage two by the end of the school year," Charlotte said thoughtfully.

"That would be ideal," said Harry. "The terrifying thing is that even after stage two, I'll be miles away from breaching the mind of anybody who is even decent at Occlumency."

"I personally found stage two one of the harder levels," said Charlotte."I have no idea if it's a side-effect of Natural Legilimency, but take it as you will."

For a time so short it must not have been even a second, Harry made a mental note to write to Emily before he had to forcefully wipe the thought from his mind. She would most certainly know if it was true, particularly because she was — according to her — a Natural Legilimens as well. However, she was not someone Harry wanted to write to during this entire Heir of Slytherin debacle. He still considered it a minor miracle that she hadn't purposefully led him astray already, and he had no desire to test his luck once more. He seemed to have a very limited supply of it to work with at the best of times, and he suspected there to be a high probability he had already used up his reserves of it for the year.

Plus, he really just hated the Heir of Slytherin with a burning passion, and he was pretty sure Emily Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin.

"Could be," Harry answered noncommittally, thinking rather deeply about it. "The whole concept of being a Natural Legilimens basically just means your mind naturally forms connections for you. That wouldn't have anything to do with control. It makes sense that we would have a harder time with the control bit, since the connections are stronger and there's a good chance our mind will start forming them before we know how to handle it."

Charlotte looked rather stunned. "That… actually makes a lot of sense." She eyed him curiously. "How do you know how Natural Legilimentes work?"

"Sorry, I can't say. It's… complicated."

Charlotte sighed but nodded thoughtfully. "And the rest of what you said?"

"I literally just worked out on my own. I have no idea if any of it's actually right or not, but it makes sense to me."

Charlotte seemed to agree, for she hummed along before broaching a new topic of conversation. "Am I allowed to ask you about your Occlumency? I have no plans of actually checking it."

Tension seemed to settle over the room. It was the first time discussion of Occlumency had arisen between the two of them since the incident in the Speaker's Den nearly three months earlier.

"You can," Harry said warily, "but it might be time to talk about… you know."

Charlotte looked intensely uncomfortable, but she continued anyway, clearly realizing she was in too far to turn back now. "How are you progressing with it? I… know where you were at in January."

"I'm right at the end of level two. I think I'm getting tested to see if I can progress to level three later this week."

He could tell Charlotte wanted to ask who his tutor was, but she didn't, instead choosing to ask a completely different question.

"You knew it was me who entered your mind in the Den?"

"Sort of," Harry admitted. "It was odd. I could sort of… tell it was you, I guess. Maybe because you've actually entered my mind before. I have no idea if that's a thing or not; being able to recognize somebody's Legilimency after it's used on you in the past. Even if I hadn't recognized it at the time, it was pretty obvious, to be fair. I know damn well Tracey is no Legilimens. Blaise actually might be. I know he knows Occlumency, and probably quite a bit of it. I have a feeling he isn't good enough at Legilimency to do whatever the hell you did though."

"The thing I needed to do wasn't actually that hard," admitted Charlotte. "It was more dealing with everything else at the same time that was difficult, and making sure to not screw something else up in the process."

"My point still stands," countered Harry, and Charlotte ended up nodding reluctantly. "I am going to hope very strongly that you haven't told anyone anything you saw."

"I… don't think I can, even if I wanted to."

Harry's brows rose. "Somebody did impose the Sanction, then?"

"Zabini did, yes."

That was interesting. Evidently, one didn't need to be a Parselmouth to impose it. Harry supposed that made sense since he had always spoken in English when invoking it, but it was still a useful tidbit to know.

"That makes the whole thing much easier," said Harry with an outward sigh of relief. "I've read quite a bit about the Sanction. It's still a bit of a mystery to me but, the best I can work out, it makes it physically impossible for any information put under it to leak. It will physically prevent you from telling anyone if you try, and the way it reads, it doesn't even sound like the information could be taken from you or shared through Legilimency."

"That… is a very powerful Sanction."

"I've never heard of anything like it before, but something similar might exist."

Charlotte bit her lip. "I've… seen things similar, but they are very rare. Sanctions as powerful as that one, I mean." Silence hung in the air as Harry slowly and deliberately formed the obvious next question on his tongue, but Charlotte beat him to the proverbial punch. "Do you know what I saw?"

"I think so. It's… hazy, but I remember the memories that flashed through my mind."

"The one from last year—"

"Not here!" Charlotte blanched at the intensity with which Harry spoke and the older boy seemed to ponder very deeply before speaking his next words. "I… might need to explain some things when this whole Heir of Slytherin mess is over. I've… been holding off telling anyone. I don't trust people. I never really have, and this is a big thing to just reveal to people. The Sanction stops you from revealing any information, but it doesn't stop you from acting on the information. I'm unsure of the Greengrass's loyalties, and I'm even more unsure about your family's and the Zabini's."

"You don't have to believe me," prefaced Charlotte. "I don't honestly expect you to believe me at face value, but my grandfather despises Voldemort." Harry was a bit surprised at how casually Charlotte threw out the Dark Lady's name. Her sister had spoken it with no quiver last summer, but he supposed it just felt odd coming from Charlotte. "My family has reasons for detesting her, but I can't tell you more than that."

"Your family was neutral in the Purity War, right?"

"Yes."

Harry looked conflicted. "I… want to tell you guys some of the things I know. I think it's important if you're going to be around me since I have… some suspicions that might concern you guys directly." His throat constricted. "Especially… after Daphne."

"Whenever you're ready, Harry, we'll be ready to listen. None of us judge you for holding secrets. I know you've figured this out already, but most everyone in your circle of friends has _a ton _of secrets. We don't judge you for keeping yours, and we won't judge you for only telling them to us when in the Den and with the Sanction imposed." She fixed him with a hard stare. "I would actually recommend that you _only_ tell us there."

Harry felt a modicum lighter, even if the oppressive tension of the year was still resting heavily atop his shoulders. "Thanks, Charlotte. I… really do appreciate it."

* * *

_**April 21, 1993**_

_**Gryffindor Tower**_

_**10:11 PM**_

Charlus and Lockhart had long since given up properly scheduling meetings. They now just met up whenever the professor was able. With the forced lockdown of the castle, it made a prearranged schedule rather difficult. A small number of students did still flagrantly violate curfew, but it was more difficult for them, with Lockhart being one of the professors. Charlus had asked him once why they didn't simply put permanent tripwire wards all over the castle. The man had answered something vague about how the Hogwarts wards were very finicky. They hadn't wanted to chance adding anything else permanent on top of them. Especially if it was the force of Aurors casting them. They were already pushing the Hogwarts charter to its limits. Best to leave the castle's infrastructure well enough alone, whenever possible.

Spell deflection was still troubling Charlus greatly, and he had yet to truly get a handle on it. That was perhaps an understatement though, as he had thus far failed to do it so much as once. He certainly had the reflexes and coordination, but the necessity for non-verbal spell casting was troubling him greatly. Lockhart said that it wasn't something that came naturally to everyone, even to those much older and more seasoned than Charlus. The mind had to be trained to work in a very specific way for non-verbal casting to be effective. He had also pointed out that the skill was not typically expected of Hogwarts students until their sixth year and that Charlus was, for all of his fame, talent and notoriety, only a second year.

He knew the man had a point, though it had done nothing to console him. Worse still was that he felt as though he was making no progress at all in Occlumency. He knew this wasn't true and that he was really making progress, it just did not at all feel that way to him. Lockhart had warned him that he would be spending months doing little more than meditating, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Very far from it, as a matter of fact. For all he was touted for, patience was most certainly something that the Boy-Who-Lived lacked. It was perhaps the reason he was struggling so much with non-verbal casting and meditation, now that he thought about it.

Charlus tried to shove all of these thoughts down as he stepped across the threshold and into his dormitory after his most recent lesson with Lockhart.

When he entered, something immediately caught his attention, something that was distinctly odd.

A piece of green parchment lay atop his bed. It seemed to shine silver every time it was caught by the light, and Charlus could not help but feel a pang of dread as he strode carefully towards it. This was also when he came to the sudden realization that he really ought to learn some basic detection spells. Deciding to trust his instincts, Charlus picked up the peace of parchment with very few words written on it in an elegant script. This whole situation felt very ominous, but he had a strong feeling the parchment wasn't dangerous in and of itself.

Merely the implications of what was written upon it.

_You're running out of time. The end draws near, Charlus Potter. Two more pieces left to fall, and then any intervention on your part will be wasteful and ill-timed. Two more pieces left to fall and we shall see how the saviour fares against the foe he was thought to have vanquished._

_Two more pieces left to fall, and the real game begins._

_Make haste, Boy-Who-Lived, for time is not on your side._

_-The Heir of Slytherin_

Charlus felt his blood run cold but before he could do anything with the offending bit of parchment, it burst into flames in his hands. The fire seemed to do nothing to his skin, only the parchment which it hungrily consumed in front of his very eyes.

Two more pieces left to fall.

Charlus had no idea what that meant, but it did not sound good.

He could only hope that either Hermione or Dumbledore could work something out if the latter was even getting his mail like he had said he would.

* * *

_**At that same moment, in the kitchens…**_

The pale figure stood in the centre of what had been a gaggle of house-elves with his intentionally oversized cloak wrapped tightly around him, the hood pulled up to obscure his face.

He had realized quite quickly the creatures had no intention of complying with his plans, so he had needed another solution.

That solution had been a number of Stunners and Memory Charms. Thank Merlin the latter was easier to perform on house-elves, who had rather simplistic minds.

Only one elf remained at his feet, the others having been shoved into the corner and allowed to wake at their own time.

He needed at least one elf's compliance for his plan to work, and he was going to accept nothing less than his plan succeeding flawlessly.

"Imperio!"

* * *

_**Meanwhile, in the Chamber of Secrets…**_

The ancient chamber of Salazar Slytherin stood just as pristine as the day the Hogwarts founder had put the final touches on the fabled room. Not a speck of dust rested anywhere on the cold, stone floor, and the columns were as structurally sound as one could possibly hope for. The torchlight flickered, sending long, ominous shadows dancing across the walls like cultists partaking in an ancient ritual. That was if such a tranquil scene as the one described could be as sinister as the air that permeated the room where five bodies lay, bound and unmoving.

In the centre of the room, a figure surveyed the bound bodies with detached indifference.

None of them were important to her. Not beyond being merely a means to an end, at least. Even the prized Daphne Greengrass was little more than a pawn. One she could carelessly discard or do with as she pleased.

Her footsteps echoed against the floor, sounding resoundingly through the hall in the absence of any other noise to speak of.

None of the figures moved, and would not for some time.

There would only be one captive she would let move.

A captive she had not yet captured, for the time had yet to be right.

He would fall soon enough, but several pieces still needed to be arranged in order for that to happen.

With a flick of a wand that rested in the hand of a body she was currently controlling, Emily summoned the lunar chart to her in an instant. There was a full moon on June 4th.

That was plenty of time.

Plenty of time for the next piece to fall, which, in turn, would lead the final pawn into her open arms, and complete the set she so desperately needed.

It would all work, just as she had planned so many months ago. Now, not even Albus Dumbledore stood in her way.

Yes, all had and would continue to go according to plan. It always did.

* * *

_**April 22, 1993**_

_**A Room in the Dungeons **_

_**9:53 PM**_

Harry sagged with complete and total exhaustion the second Grace withdrew from his mind. His body would have tumbled from his chair and thudded against the classroom floor had the older girl not leant forward and reached out to steady him. His vision swam both from exertion and disorientation, but it slowly refocused and he blinked the exhaustion away the best he could.

"Congratulations," said Grace, "you are now a level three Occlumens."

Despite everything going on in his life, Harry genuinely beamed at her. He could not remember the last time he had smiled in such a way, and Grace was unsure if she had ever seen the boy who sat before her smile in a way nearly as genuine or as pure as this. It was by far the happiest she could ever remember seeing him.

"Thank you." It was an odd thought, but he realized he might have honestly thanked Grace more than any other person alive. Possibly more than any combination of living people, so long as obligatory, insincere apologies were not counted in that total.

"My pleasure," said Grace with a smile. "I'm just happy you're still progressing so fast with everything going on. I was worried it would be a distraction."

"No, it all just means I need to be better."

Grace gave him an approving look. "That's the attitude I hoped you would have, but you would be shocked at how many people fold in a situation like the one we're in."

"Then they shouldn't be mentally weak." It was blunt and clinical, but it was Harry's honest opinion. If he could still push forward after everything he had been through in his life, he saw no reason why others couldn't match his feat.

Grace nodded. "I agree, but plenty don't."

Harry looked very uncaring. "That's their problem." He seemed to collect his thoughts before asking his next question. More precisely, he was readying himself for what may well turn out to be an influx of new information. "So, what's on the table for stage three?"

Grace straightened, a telltale sign that a lecture was on the way.

"As you know, stage two of Occlumency focused on the building of rudimentary Occlumency shields. Or, more accurately and less cliched — rudimentary Occlumency reflexes. Stage three focuses on solidifying those reflexes. By the end of stage three, your Occlumency will hold against all but the most skilled in Legilimency. They won't be infallible, but no novice or even intermediate Legilimens would be breaching your mind. It would take somebody who was exceptionally skilled to do so."

That certainly sounded appealing, though Harry dreaded how much time it would inevitably take. "And what about subskills?"

"They are… a lot more complicated in level three. As you have probably worked out, stage two subskills were just augmenting your mind." He nodded. "The stage three subskills focus more on expanding your mind and allowing it to do things it shouldn't technically be able to do." Harry's eyes gleamed in anticipation. "I think that's a discussion for another time, though," Grace said with a smile, watching amusedly as her young protege deflated in front of her very eyes. "You're already tired and the last thing I need is to add to that. I doubt you'll be cramming for exams, but I do have a feeling you're still going to try and do something productive before the night is over."

Harry was going to read up more on wards from a book he'd taken when infiltrating the Restricted Section, so productive was certainly one way of saying it.

"I'll let you get on your way then," said Grace. "I'll see you on Sunday, as always."

* * *

_**Minutes earlier, in the Slytherin common room...**_

Charlotte burst through the entrance to the Slytherin common room breathing heavily, her heart in her throat, only to freeze at once.

She had snuck off to the library to acquire a book for exam prep. On the way back, spells had suddenly began shooting past her. She had turned, only to find shadowy figures pursuing her. She had debated fighting for all of three seconds, then one of them had fired off three curses she had never even seen before, and she suddenly thought that might not be in her best interests.

She had done all in her power to lose them, but nothing had worked. They had never drawn terribly close, but their shadows had loomed on the outskirts of her sight, imposing and sinister as they marched forever behind her, not falling for any evasions she might have come up with.

She had been sure that when she returned to the Slytherin common room, she would have been safe. The usual crowd of people would have naturally afforded her a certain degree of protection.

But there were no people in the Slytherin common room.

Well, none that were awake, anyway.

All figures present were slumped against their seats, very obviously asleep and looking completely and totally out of it. Charlotte intuitively knew they had been dosed with something — a sleeping draught, most likely.

"In a hurry, Weitts?"

Or perhaps not all the figures were asleep.

One rose from the lounge often occupied by her sister, and it took Charlotte a moment to recognize him. He was slim and pale with dark, intense eyes and slicked black hair. A prefect's badge gleamed ominously in the ghostly light of the common room, and there was something unhinged behind his eyes. Something reminiscent of what she had seen in Mulciber's expression moments before he had tried to maim her with that damned, cursed blade.

"S-Selwyn?" she stuttered, hating how her voice faltered and nearly failed her. "What's going on?" Her eyes widened. "YOU! You're the Heir of Slytherin?"

Selwyn laughed. It was more of a cackle than anything, but he seemed to take great amusement in the remark. "Me? The Heir of Slytherin? I hate to break it to you, Weitts, but more than one person can be plotting at Hogwarts at the same time. I have no love for mudbloods, but I'm certainly not going to waste a year of my life trying to off a few of them." He sneered distastefully. "And — as much as my family might not get along with the Neutrals — making a Founding Twelve Family's heiress disappear wouldn't exactly be my style."

Oh… oh, shit!

"Then you're the one who helped Mulciber and Jugson! The one who stunned me from behind!"

"Now you're getting somewhere," Selwyn drawled lazily, withdrawing a long, dark wand from the sleeve of his robes.

"But… why? I haven't done anything to you or your friends!"

"Oh, it has little to do with you, Weitts. Much as you might believe otherwise, not everything revolves around you. I find your disgusting display of overconfidence to be utterly pathetic and I think you are a jumped up brat with delusions of grandeur, but I don't care about you, really. You just so happened to be related to somebody who I very much care about, and friends with another."

"My sister and…"

"Potter!" snarled Selwyn. "I would never have cared, but I owe him for the dragon bullshit last year. That was the last time I'll be letting anybody else come up with a plan. That didn't just cost my family gold and a reputation, it cost me. It was supposed to be the year I got back at your sister."

"Get back at my—"

"Did I stutter?" Selwyn snapped irritably, causing Charlotte to close her mouth suddenly and without further prompting. "She wasn't the only one vying for the top spot when Yaxley left school. He was in charge here before your sister, before you ask any other stupid questions. Things were run tightly here when he was in charge. He didn't let blood traitors run around as if they ran the house, let alone train them. I should have had the spot and I would have… had your sister not turned that bitch against me!"

"That—"

"Pax! We were friends, once. Very close friends… more than friends. Until she stabbed me in the back to flock to your sister like the pathetic little sheep she is." Charlotte's mouth dried. This was not good. "She took something from me, then led me into a trap and ruined my reputation in this house. It's taken two years to build it back up, and when I was close, Potter had to go and fucking ruin it again!"

He truly did look unhinged and Charlotte would have run for it had she not known her other assailants were likely waiting outside the common room door to prevent her from doing just that.

"Now, I'm going to take something from your sister, lead her into a trap and fucking ruin her." His eyes gleamed. "Oh, and Potter. A few of my other friends are off to deal with him as we speak. Not the ones who led you here, mind. They'll be coming with us."

He waited no longer.

Charlotte drew her own wand to defend herself but knew at once it would be of no use. Selwyn was even better than Harry at duelling, and she had yet to beat him so much as once.

She managed to evade him for a few moments, cutting a path towards the dormitories where she might hopefully find sanctuary. She had never seen a boy in the girl's dorms, and she could sense the presence of wards, likely to ensure that continued. If she could just get to the dorms…

"CRUCIO!"

The spell passed straight through her shield as if it wasn't there, and she shrieked in utter agony as the Cruciatus Curse washed over her. Her screams did not wake any in the room, and they were the last thing she heard before her vision went red, and then completely non-existent.

* * *

_**Meanwhile, elsewhere in the dungeons…**_

Harry was having a normal walk back to the Slytherin common room right up until the first curse soared past his face.

It appeared to have been fired from the shadows, but he didn't stand still long enough to find out.

He rolled to the side at once, dodging two spells as he drew his wand and returned a volley of his own in the direction the magic had last emanated from. None found their mark, but three figures stepped out of the shadows, all of them recognizable to Harry, and all of them sixth and seventh years.

Shit!

The following exchange was brief, fast, and furious.

Harry sent a torrent of magic towards them, causing the three of them to scatter. He then focused his wand on the nearest of them and fired before turning to the next and doing likewise. He had no idea how to fight three opponents at once, so he just decided to fire on all of them.

A well-placed Bone-Breaker of his did find its mark, and his next planned move was to finally activate the ring Grace had given him. Its activation required a spoken password he had chosen months earlier, and he hadn't exactly had time to cease casting long enough to speak the password in question until now.

"Tormensia!"

The torture curse ripped through his shield and slammed into Harry's back, sending him toppling to the floor, doing all he could to not scream. Ropes bound him faster than he could move. His wand was torn from his grasp and was firmly held by one of his assailants.

And that was when Harry knew exactly who was behind this.

All three of these upper years shadowed Daniel Selwyn, the bastard who had hit him with the same torture curse he'd just been subjected to while he'd been bound last year. Selwyn had remembered that simple restraints hadn't stopped Harry from escaping last year. The boy must have accurately assumed he could summon his wand, so long as it was lying loosely nearby.

That wasn't going to be an option this year, Selwyn was furious with him for ruining his reputation and costing his family so much gold. Up until now, he had posed no threat, and Harry had been so distracted by everything else this year that he hadn't even pondered a retaliatory strike.

Yet here it was, and he could do nothing but thrash helplessly as he felt himself levitated off the ground.

* * *

**Author's Endnote:**

**I have two very exciting announcements:**

**The first is that I posted a holiday one-shot titled _A Happy Memory!_ It is only about 11k words, and I would greatly appreciate support and especially feedback on the story. **

**On an even more exciting note, I was fortunate enough to be a guest on a podcast this last week. The podcast's host is a well-known fanfiction author who goes by the pen name TheBlack'sResurgence. You all might know him as the author of _Honour Thy Blood, Stepping Back, The Green in the Grey _and, most recently,_ A Flower for_ _the Soul. _**

**If you guys want to hear us discuss my work, his work, and a variety of other topics during our nearly three hour conversation, the podcast can be found on his P*T*E*N page. DESPITE BEING ON HIS P*T*E*N PAGE, IT IS COMPLETELY FREE TO LISTEN TO AND WILL COST YOU NO MONEY AT ALL. **

**I hope you guys enjoy it. I apologize for not having a studio-quality microphone or anything, but I think the podcast turned out well.**

**Aside from the self-promo, this is the last chapter of 2020. I would like to genuinely thank all of you who have kept up with this story over the course of the year. When I started planning this in 2019 and starting posting it in 2020, I never imagined the story would even scrape anything close to the numbers it has done, and the popularity it has accumulated continues to blow me away each and every day. I would just like all of you to know this has genuinely made a positive impact in my life, so I thank you all for that, and I hope you're all ready for what's to come in 2021.**

**Happy holidays!**

**PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, January 2nd, 2021. Or you can read it right now by joining my Discord server, or read the next two by signing up for my P*T*E*N page.**

**Thank you to my lovely Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl, Ink613, Matilda, and Parhelion Solem for their corrections/contributions this week.**


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